One Heart Too Few
by Chelle Storey-Daniel
Summary: Sequel to One Heart Too Few - Erica's POV
1. Chapter 1

*~*~*~*~

Everything you have ever heard about addiction is true.

It's mind altering. You feel like you will die without your daily fix. It can cripple you, pleasure you, drive you insane, and leave you begging for more. You become a glutton for punishment because you surrender yourself to the high every chance you get. And when you're without, you suffer horrific withdrawal that only one more hit can conquer.

My life? It has forced me to become an addict, but it's not a habit that I want to break.

My addiction is sleeping next to me, her fingers curled under her chin and when a smile plays over her features, I feel like I've been injected with the strongest substance in the world.

I like to call it love.

I've only experimented with a handful of drugs. All of my dabbling took place my freshman year of college when freedom overwhelmed me and I wanted to sample everything that life had to offer. I wanted to experience first hand what it was that made my adoptive parents such slaves to their weaknesses. I needed to know why being high was more important to them than I could ever be. I still remember what smoking pot felt like. I got a huge lump in my throat and everything was funny until I started to cry and couldn't stop. The one and only time I dropped acid, I believed that I was having an out of body experience and walked around asking people to touch me. I swear, none of them could. I was there, but I wasn't. There was comfort in that for me. It explained why I never could touch my parents. They hovered on the outside of my life and never caught me as I orbited them, even though I kept reaching out. They looked right through me, with their dilated, red eyes and never noticed that my own were red for very different reasons.

My addiction? She doesn't do that to me. Even though I get a rush of blood to the head when she touches me, even though I get dizzy watching her walk across the room, even though I would swear I'm hallucinating sometimes when she tells me she loves me ... Callie Torres also gives me clarity. For the first time in a long time, I can see past my own anger, fear, and frustration and I can forget the life that I had before her. Because the life I have with her right now makes up for everything. All the loss I've endured, all the pain and regret and sorrow that I knew growing up ... she somehow erases it and replaces it with a memory of her own design. She lets me live *her* life, with *her* family, with *her* happiness. I no longer stand on the outside peering into the life I want to have.

I'm addicted. Happily so.

It's Christmas morning. We're back in her childhood bedroom, stretched out on the same bed where we first made love. My head is on the very pillow that cradled my thoughts that first night we were together, when it kept me awake by replaying what it felt like to love her. I'm filled with the same flood of emotions that broke over me like waves when she kissed me for the first time. My heart is pounding the same, familiar rhythm it played that night as she fell asleep next to me. My skin tingles every time she moves and brushes against me, just like it did then. She still smells like cherries and eroticism (yes, that exists) and it still feels like I'm wrapping my arms around forever when she rolls into me and rests her head on my shoulder.

The only thing that has changed is that I no longer fear her leaving me.

Because I don't think I'm the only one with an addiction.

She needs me as much as I need her.

*~*~*~*~

Callie tried to prepare me for what Christmas in Miami would be like. I know that the Torres family has money. All you need to do is glance at the outside of their palatial mansion, with its cobblestone drive, grand front portico and large Greek columns to figure that out. I can't say a lot for Lori Anne's taste in decorating, but once you get over the initial shock of explosive primary colors, it's really not that bad. A bright red living room has its merits. At least it motivates you to maintain eye contact with whomever you're speaking with. And the dark blue kitchen makes you not want to revisit for late night snacks. So, there's a silver lining.

What I am not prepared for is the abundance of gifts that appeared overnight. Callie and I did our shopping online and had it sent directly to Miami, but we did not go overboard. When Jasper wakes us up by screaming that Santa came, Callie and I sleepily follow him into the family room and I can't imagine where her parents had everything hidden. Lori Anne is standing in front of the fireplace, holding a silver platter of coffee that smells incredible. I beat Callie to it and take a cup, giving the woman a smile of gratitude. She sets the tray down, takes my cup back, and opens her arms to me. I bend down to accommodate her short stature and she squeezes me tight, rubbing my back. As much as Callie always feels like coming home ... this right here? It does, too. I never really knew what a mother's touch should feel like.

I confess that there's a lump in my throat. I don't try to talk around it. I let Lori Anne know with my smile what her Christmas hug meant to me. She winks and pats me on the cheek, returning my grin. I dedicate my full attention to the coffee so no one can see that I'm already pretty misty-eyed. Just to be included in the festivities was a shock, but seeing a stocking with my name on it that is just as stuffed as Callie's ... that's pretty amazing.

I watch as Callie grumpily flops on the sofa, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She's dressed herself in the Torres Christmas Standard. It's a red pajama thing with feet that are candy cane striped. I escaped the horror of this tradition by misplacing (read: removing from the suitcase) my own matching one. My elation over dodging this particular bullet is short lived, however, because Lori Anne retrieves a bag and hands it to me. "You'll want to get changed, Erica," she tells me, innocently enough. "Our family photos won't be family photos if you're not in our ceremonial garb."

Keeping the revulsion off my face takes all of my resolve. "Thank you," I tell her, trying not to choke on the words.

I hear Callie laughing and glance her way. I really should not have told her that she looked like the demented cousin of an elf. I take my bag and what I can summon of my pride to the hallway bathroom and pull the pajamas out. Considering that it's eighty degrees outside, I plan on suggesting that we do photos right away. Having a heat stroke for Christmas is just ... wrong.

My fear is quickly waylaid when I step back into the hallway. Joel is standing a few feet away, adjusting the air conditioning, and he has ... snow ... in his hair. He's also wearing the footed suit of doom and he smiles apologetically. "This won't take long. The snow machine is only here for an hour and what it's blowing out there is melting fast. And the air is on as low as it will go."

"Snow machine?"

He nods and then holds out his arm to me. "Let's go walkin' in a winter wonderland. The kids love it."

Money? It can buy snow in Miami. The beach is covered and it's peppering down like a blizzard when we all go outside. There are Christmas trees, live deer, a sleigh and a Nativity Scene. We're posed, prodded, and grouped up with each other, then alone, and then it's just me and Callie. She wraps her arms around me and leans her head on my shoulder. There's ice in her eyelashes when she looks up at me and I swear ... the suit is worth it just for that. I give her a kiss and no one says a thing, but I hear the camera clicking rapidly.

I really don't think that *this* is what a normal family does on Christmas morning, but I'll take it.

Oh yes, I will.

*~*~*~*

"Wanna go for a swim with me, Yellow?"

I'm lying on Callie's bed, watching her slide her new bathing suit on. It was a gift from her mother and I heartily approve of it. It's a one piece that leaves nothing to the imagination. It's black, with sheer netting around the middle and just enough fabric on top to cover a fraction of her breasts. I can see everything. I know *everything*. I've memorized every inch of her. "I ate so much I'd sink."

She puts her hand on her hip and smiles at me. It's her devilish smile. Callie has three smiles. There's a flirty one where she does this thing with her eyes and you know you're about to get laid. Then there's the sad one, where it doesn't quite reach her eyes and I know that something is on her mind. And then there's the devilish one. It's the one full of suggestion, full of invitation, full of trouble. I'm getting that one right now. And I love all that implies. "Are you undressing me with your eyes, baby?" she asks.

I shake my head and stand up, walking to where she's standing. I slide my thumbs under the top straps and slowly pull it down, exposing her breasts. "Not with my eyes, no."

"You know, we are home alone."

"Is that an invitation?"

"Do you need one?"

I shake my head and watch her lick her lips. God, those lips. It's the first thing I noticed about her. I was at Seattle Grace to do surgery on George O'Malley's father and I saw her in the hallway. She was biting her bottom lip, clearly troubled about something, and I had to stop walking altogether and just look at her. I saw her again in the cafeteria and I swear to God ... the things she did with her fork while she picked at her lunch nearly killed me. She'd slide the food into her mouth and then chew with the prongs resting against her lower lip. I think she was flipping through a magazine, but honestly ... I didn't look that low. I got to her breasts and then alternated between those and her mouth. I'm pretty sure that I undressed her with my eyes right then ... and every moment I was in her vicinity after that.

I knew that I wanted her. Actually, I never had such a strong reaction to a woman before, not even with Rachel. It was instantaneous with Callie. The moment I laid eyes on her ... I couldn't look away. And she's a big part of the reason that I accepted Webber's offer to fill Burke's vacancy. I actually checked the Seattle Grace website to make sure that she was still on staff before I agreed to leave Mercy West. And then I spent weeks following her around like a stalker while I tried to get up the nerve to speak to her. Mark Sloan was chasing after me like the dog in heat that he is and she seemed to be pretty friendly with Sloan ... so I caught them in a room together after a bad day and asked them both out for drinks.

To say that I ignored Sloan in favor of her would be putting it mildly. The second I heard her laugh I couldn't get enough. I kept her drink full, her spirits high, and hung on her every word. She was funny, quirky, had a vocabulary to rival a sailor's and everything about her was infectious. Her personality, her openness, her dead pan humor and sarcasm ... I was hooked. I knew I would be, but getting to sit next to her and breathe her air and have her look into my eyes while I talked to her was incredible. She was a toucher. She would rest her hand on mine as she made her points and she'd touch my arm when I said something to make her laugh. All of me would warm instantly when she did that and I knew I was either fucked or screwed. Either way ... I wanted to go there.

But then Mark Sloan stopped falling over himself to get my attention and turned to Callie.

I was devastated when she told me that she was sleeping with him. I was even more devastated when the rumor mill kicked into overdrive and I heard that they were "official". Mark and Callie had become ... Mark and Callie. A couple. And I didn't know if she was even bisexual so I don't know why I thought I'd have a chance, but I still wanted it. I needed it. I hung onto those fantasies until she went to Canada for vacation with Sloan. When she came back and told me all about their dressing room romp ... I decided to move on.

Helen was only ever supposed to be a one night stand, but she stuck around for a while.

I slept with her because her hair was just dark enough with the lights off to make me see Callie there. I had to close my eyes any other time. She was convenient. I never lied to Callie about that, but I did enjoy her. Helen was raunchy and daring and willing to try anything. I could lose myself for hours in the physical act because it deadened my emotions. I had no feelings for her. There wasn't even a modicum of fondness there, because she was self-involved, self-indulgent, and had an IQ that had to be less than President Bush's, but she was willing. And I was able.

Part of me knew that Callie and Mark would implode and I counted the days. Literally. I counted every second of it and would lie awake at night wondering if she was having sex with him. I never thought for one second that she would be making love with him. Whether she realized it or not, she kept him at arm's length and the piece of my heart that she already owned was convinced that she was doing that for me. I wasn't shocked when they broke up. I wasn't shocked when she appeared on my doorstep and announced that he had cheated and I wasn't shocked when she called him every name she could think of except his given one. But I was shocked that she curled up in the bathroom floor and sobbed until she threw up. Repeatedly. I was scared then. What if she really did love him?

They say that everything happens for a reason and when Callie's father had a heart attack she didn't have to invite me to go to Miami with her. I couldn't let her hurt alone. There was never a possibility of that. Callie Torres was my best friend, but beyond that, she was also my entire life. I had nothing outside of work except her. I wanted nothing outside of work except her. So, I flew to Miami with her and I operated on her father, fell in love with her brother, and fell in love with her as I watched her with him. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I loved her already, but seeing her with her 'buddy' and experiencing this other side of her character through her family, I fell in love.

For the first time in my entire life ... I told someone the painful truth about my upbringing. I had never shared that with anyone. Rachel never knew the extent of it. Rachel was the type of person to ... dismiss people's pasts in order to avoid the hurt that accompanied it. She was content to live in the here and now and not look back. As a social worker, she spent enough time in the troubled childhoods of her cases. I didn't want to be a case for her. She only liked to look forward and while that spared her an enormous amount of my pain, I don't think I was ever able to be myself with her. Not my REAL self. Not the abused kid who grew up hungry for food, love, and attention. I don't think Rachel was disinterested, but she never asked and I never told her. It was simply easier that way. She loved me for who I was, not who I had been, but Callie taught me that I needed to be loved for that. I earned the right to be loved for that. Callie does love me because of that or perhaps in spite of it.

"Hello? Erica?"

I'm pulled from my thoughts and do a double take. Callie is completely naked. The bathing suit is pooled on the floor and she's standing there, all mocha colored skin and eagerness. I missed it. I missed the big reveal. "I should catch up."

She stills my hands as I start to tug at my shirt. "Where were you just now?"

My fingers move over her cheek, dancing along the contours of her face. "Reliving you. Everything that brought us here."

Her nose wrinkles and she shakes her head. "I hope you only relived the highlights."

"Every second with you is a highlight."

She pulls my shirt off for me. "I was already a sure thing, but that just solidified it."

I chuckle as she unfastens my bra and slide my arms out for her. One of the best things about her ... is that she can make the act of undressing me the most erotic thing in the world. It doesn't matter if she's in a frenzy and yanks at me until I'm bare or if she takes her time like she's doing now. There's something about the hunger that always appears on her face when she's doing it. There's pure, unadulterated lust all over her features and my body will start to tingle the second she touches me at all. I'm tingling all over when she arches a brow and pushes me back on the bed. She kisses the valley between my breasts as her fingers work at the buttons on my shorts and she slides down my stomach, licking and nipping at my skin, as she slowly inches the last articles of clothing over my hips.

As soon as she has my panties and shorts down around my thighs, she presses a kiss on my lower stomach and then eases her thumb against me. She's testing me ... she wants to see if she's succeeding and when I feel my own wetness I return the sly smile she gives me. I try to lift my legs to give her a hint, but she shakes her head and traps me by pressing my shorts down against the bed with her elbow between my legs. I'm pinned. I can't lift my hips, I can't squirm nearly enough, and I watch through narrowed eyes as she reaches up with her free hand and pulls the clip from her hair. Her long, raven curls fall around her shoulders and it's so shiny that the sunlight through the windows makes it look blue. And then she shifts, letting the ends of those curls spill over my abdomen. I hiss, arching my back into her touch and I catch the twinkle in her eye before she fastens her lips just above my pubic bone and gives me a hickey.

"Callie," I growl.

"Hmm?" She's still sucking at me and her eyes find mine, unblinking, pinning me, making me forget the sting of what she's doing.

When she leans back to examine her handiwork, I push myself up onto my elbows and survey the damage myself. It almost looks like a heart, but the reprimand dies in my throat when she places an open mouthed kiss against it, soothing it with her tongue. I fall back against the bed, boneless and completely over it. She shifts and pins me with her knee now, holding my shorts against the bed, still halfway down my thighs. I watch her crawl up my body and her tongue darts out against one nipple, then the other. I hold my breath as she finds the spot on my neck that forces a million goose bumps to dot my flesh and finally, her mouth is on mine and her tongue is doing things to mine that would make me weak-kneed if I wasn't already there.

I drag my nails over the rounded globes of her ass up her back, earning a hiss. "Sit on my face," I murmur, trying to tug her upward.

She kisses me again, taking her sweet ass time to give me what I want. Seconds stretch into minutes before she stands up and I enjoy the view. Oh, how I enjoy the view. I open my arms to her, ready to guide her down onto me, but she turns and faces my feet before she lowers herself. Finally ... finally she's going to take off my shorts and I try, I really do try to kick them off, but she catches them and moves them down at her own excruciating pace. She also keeps her sex just out of range by following them down. When they clear my ankles, she starts kissing there and doles out equal affection to my legs and knees before she gives into my persistent tugging and lets me taste her. As odd as it is to admit this ... I can and have gotten off just by doing this to her. She doesn't even have to touch me in return. I can taste her, hear her, and feel what I do to her and it's enough to push me over the edge.

I am not in danger of going it alone, however, because her talented mouth is all over me and I get off before she does. It feels like she was only touching me for two seconds before I let go and I feel her smile against me, I feel her chuckle and I know she's about to rub it in that she's *that* good. We already established that fact MONTHS ago, but she's a bragger. Before she can say it, before she can open her mouth to do anything more than moan, I slide two fingers into her and her moan becomes a squeal. It's my turn to smile, it's my turn to laugh, but I don't because she starts to rock her hips and lowers her mouth to me again and well ... the road to hell is paved with good intentions. I'll be damned if she doesn't throw me off my game and get me off *again*. When I finally pull myself from the coma she has put me in ... she's lying on her back beside me, her face is even with mine and she's grinning at me like a Cheshire cat.

"Don't say it," I growl.

"My youthful exuberance *clearly* just owned your *old* ass, Hahn. It's two and oh and from the looks of you ... you may be down for the count."

I push myself up to my elbow, looking at the moisture on her chest. "Your youthful exuberance is awfully sweaty."

"I was doing a lot of work."

"Are you implying that I wasn't, Torres?"

"I'm implying that you can do better."

I'm on her before she can even finish the sentence. I've got her legs over my shoulders, my hand at her center, and my mouth is on hers when the last syllable is out.

I take her there *three* times.

And stop just shy of the fourth because we hear her parents arrive from their wonderful afternoon of helping deliver all the loot they bought for Trevor and Savannah.

I watch her dress in her bathing suit again and grimace when she tosses me the red one that Lori Anne chose for me. It's pretty. It's definitely pretty, but it's also incredibly modest. It looks like something that would be vetoed in the Summer Olympics for covering up too much flesh. Either Lori Anne doesn't want to see my goodies or she doesn't want Callie to see them.

Oh, if she only knew.

*~*~*~*~

The changes in Jasper are nothing short of miraculous. Callie and I gave him hand held video games and all the Superman movies for Christmas. He sat on the sofa for hours playing Zelda, randomly announcing that he was at a new level and telling us all the secrets. Watching Callie watch him, listening to her instruct him on the game and seeing him understand her was an amazing gift in and of itself, but the best thing I got for Christmas was a wedding scrapbook from Lori Anne. Our names, mine and Callie's, are engraved on the cover and Lori Anne had written me a letter on a wedding invitation ... inviting me to join her family. That's what I'm thinking about as we sit down for lunch the day after Christmas. Our flight to Nebraska is scheduled in a couple of hours and I already miss this. I miss this ... happiness of being surrounded by something so pedestrian, something that everyone takes for granted, something like home.

I've been thinking about the Hahn's. Friedrich Hahn was no blood relation to me. He married my aunt and begrudgingly took me in. He gave me his name, but that was all he ever gave me willingly and I want no part of it. I'm going to be meeting the Salingers in a few hours ... my real family ... in Nebraska. I will meet my sister, my two brothers, my niece and nephew ... and I'll meet Rick again. My dad, my biological father. Rick Salinger. As much as I love my dad, I don't want that name either. As I finish off my yeast roll and Jasper hands me another one, carefully cradling it in the palm of his hand, I know that I want *this* family.

I want *this* name.

I want everyone to know that I am a Torres, that I am a part of something that I always thought was unattainable. I want to wear Callie's name on my lab coat, I want it on my driver's license, I want to publish articles as Dr. Erica Torres and sign that name officially instead of doodling variations of Hahn-Torres and Torres-Hahn on my notepad during M&Ms. I want to be called Mrs. Torres more than I've ever wanted to be called Dr. Hahn. Being Dr. Hahn meant bringing credit to a surname that didn't deserve my success. My success? It belongs to Callie now. I want her to own that as much as she owns me. I want her to achieve as much as she can in Ortho, make a name for herself, and everyone to know that she's mine ... and I'm hers. I want the Torres name to be in JAMA every month for whatever reason. I want it to be OUR name.

I clear my throat and glance at Lori Anne. She's snapping at Santos for refusing a second helping of sweet potato casserole and I watch as she browbeats him into submission. After she drops a huge helping onto his plate, she glances my way and offers me the bowl. I take it even though I'm full. When I set it on the table, I catch her eye again and say, "Thank you again, Lori Anne, for the beautiful scrapbook. I can't wait to fill it up."

She beams at me. I've seen all the photos from her pageant days in Georgia, but I think she's beautiful now. I think the wrinkles on her face, the smile lines and crinkles around her eyes, make her breathtaking. I would never admit to Callie that the months that Lori Anne hated me caused me to feel rejected by my mother all over again. I felt unlovable. I was this broken, tossed away baby that my biological mother couldn't keep and my adoptive mother didn't want. Lori Anne's disdain for me, her scorn and horror at my homosexuality, made me wonder if my other mothers had seen that in me back then. Did they always know that I was 'different'? Did it make it easier for them to pretend I wasn't there? Was Callie the only person who would ever see my soul?

Lori Anne clasps her fingers together, her long red nails shining. "I'm glad you liked it, honey. I don't know if you noticed, but the inside of the back cover has a removable name plate. I don't know the date that you girls are planning or I would have gotten it engraved for you."

"You were probably wondering about the name, too," I prompt, hoping she'll take the bait.

She doesn't disappoint. "Well, I didn't know what happens in ... same sex marriages. Does the person who is oldest have their name listed first? How does that work?"

I glance at Callie and see that she's leveling her mother with a glare cold enough to make snow start falling on the dining room table. These curious conversations with Lori Anne have notoriously turned very ugly in the past. She has an opinion about everything and isn't afraid to voice it at the drop of a hat, even if it's insulting and full of condemnation. I reach out and cover Callie's hand with mine, but she doesn't look at me. Can I just say that if I was on the receiving end of this particular look ... I'd probably turn around and run? I try to calm her down by rubbing my thumb over her wrist. It doesn't soften her exterior at all so I turn my attention to Lori Anne and say, "Uh, well, actually I don't think that there are any rules. Gay marriage is still so new that -"

"Anything goes?" Lori Anne suggests.

"Mom, I swear to God -" Callie begins.

"What!?" Lori Anne unclasps her hands and holds her palms up. "I need to know what you're going to call yourselves if you want monogrammed towels."

"We don't," Callie tells her.

I can't keep the smile off my face. "Erica and Callie Torres."

I look at Callie when I say it and the demonic look vanishes from her visage. "What?"

"Just Torres," I repeat, then I watch the birth of a fourth smile appear on her face. This one is a little stunned, a little emotional, and a lot beautiful. This is a smile that I want to install on her features every day for the rest of our lives. It takes my breath, my heart skips a good four beats, and I don't care that we have an audience at all. I run my thumb over her lip, tracing the curve, memorizing the angle so I can catch it anytime she does it again, and then I kiss her.

"NAUGHTY NAUGHTY!" Jasper bellows. "Do you think I should kiss Geneva like that? I think I should. She sometimes smells like gummy worms and that's probably what she tastes like. The red ones are her favorite. What does Callie taste like, Yellow?"

Santos chokes on his water and Lori Anne clasps her hands under her chin again. "Our Father, who art in Heaven, give me the strength not to have a heart attack right now."

"Erica's a heart doctor." Jasper picks up his knife and hands it to me. "Just in case. You be ready."

We all dissolve into laughter and then listen to Lori Anne give Jasper very clear, concise, and over the top warnings about kissing girls. When he asks if he should kiss a boy instead ... our lunch officially ends.

I'm loading the dishwasher when Lori Anne says my name behind me. I swallow hard and turn around to face her. I brace myself for the riot act or a warning or for her to relapse into her hatred of me, but she's looking pretty harmless. She leans against the island, nibbling on a cookie, and says, "Erica Torres has a nice ring to it."

I finally breathe. "Yeah, it does."

"Your parents ... they weren't good to you, were they?"

"No, ma'am," I admit and it's an act of God to keep the hurt out of my voice. "They weren't."

"And your father, this Rick, you have a lot riding on him, don't you?"

I think about that before I answer her. "No, I don't. The only person on the face of the earth that I ... let a lot ride on ... is Callie. She's never disappointed me. I trust her."

"You don't trust Rick?"

"Rick seduced my mother when she was sixteen. He was married and ended things with her when she was pregnant with me. It's because of him that I didn't have parents who were good to me. So no ... I don't trust him. But I want a family, Lori Anne. And he's ... he's blood."

She reaches across the island and takes my hand, turning it over. She traces the blue vein in my wrist and puts her own wrist beside it. "We're all blood, Erica. Flesh and blood. And you don't have to look for a family with Rick. You'll always have one here."

A tear spills over my cheek and she reaches up, dabbing at it with her napkin.

Callie chooses that moment to come sashaying in with her plate and she nearly drops it when she sees that I'm crying. "What did you do!? Mother!"

Lori Anne shoots her a look. I know *exactly* where Callie gets it now. "Must you always assume the worst, Calliope? For Heaven's sake, you would think I raised you like 'Mommy Dearest'."

"No, you morphed into her when you found out that I'm gay! What did you say to her?"

"I welcomed her into the family, ass!" Lori Anne snaps. "And you better watch yourself or I'll kick you out and keep her. I'm liking her better right about now."

Callie cuts her eyes over at me and I nod, confirming Lori Anne's story. Putting her hands on her hips, Callie says, "You don't want her, Mom. She's *old*. She can't keep up with me."

I throw the dishtowel at her and give chase.

She darts out the open back door and sprints across the dunes.

I catch her on the steepest and we roll down the side, legs and arms entangled. I tickle her until she pees her pants and then she forces me into the ocean with her.

We both have to shower before our flight to remove sand from ... sensitive places ... and if Callie's parents realize that our bras and panties will be washing up on shore eventually ... neither say a thing.

*~*~*~*

Callie falls asleep while we wait for the plane to take off. Her eyes are puffy from crying the entire time she was telling her parents goodbye. They'll be joining us in Seattle for the New Year, bringing Jasper with them, but Callie still cried and clung to her brother until our final boarding call. I hate it. I haven't broached the topic with her yet, but I want to make it very clear to her that Jasper is welcome to live with us when he's rehabilitated. Even now, even though he still has a ways to go, our home is his home if he wants it. If she wants it. I certainly want it. Of course, Lori Anne would likely rethink her change of heart and string me up by my toes over a swarm of sharks, but that's not the points. I'd happily risk pissing Lori Anne off for life to make Callie happy.

We're delayed for an hour and I'm happy that Callie sleeps through it. She fidgets on a plane more than anyone should. When we finally do throttle down the runway, I lean my head back and watch her. Even in sleep, her lips tremble and I wonder if she's dreaming about leaving Jazz behind again. Something amazing happened when he told her the truth about the boat ride that damaged his brain. His simple admission, that he had caused the accident, allowed her to throw off the chains that had been choking her for fifteen years. She didn't just throw them off, she sent those confines rocketing into orbit and I had to hold on to her to make sure she didn't follow suit. She floated after that. As much as she liked the tickets I gave her to Italy for Christmas ... the gift that Jasper gave her, by unlocking her prison, is the one that she loved the most. It's the one that she *needed* the most.

Prisons.

I wonder if Callie realizes that she unlocked mine for me. When she first suggested that we go to Nebraska and visit family grave sites, I came close to breaking up with her. I figured it would be easier for me to live without her than live with her knowing the dirty, disgusting truth about the poverty that surrounded me. I had only revisited that hell in my dreams and when she made it clear that she was determined to see it for herself I wanted to die. Dying would be easier, I thought, than exposing her to the filth that I never feel washes off me completely. I thought that I would prefer the loneliness again, but then I looked at her and I knew that I would go back and relive it step by step for her because she could wash it away.

And she did.

She bathed it off with her tears, she soaped me with her love, and she rinsed me in her soul. Her strength became mine and I truly knew what it felt like to be exposed, but held. I was stripped bare in front of the headstone that was *wrong* for my adoptive parents, but she cloaked me and kept me warm. I was afraid that returning there would put the coldness back in me, I was afraid it would chase away all the compassion that she had taught me, but it didn't. I sank into her and she was like an inferno. Courage is something that Callie Torres has an abundance of and I always pretended to have it, but it was just that - a pretence. I was Attila the Hahn on the outside, but inside ... I trembled.

The same way Callie's chin does now.

I lean into her, my mouth next to her ear. "I love you, Lee. So much."

She shifts and moves closer, her head on my shoulder. One of her arms falls over my lap and I lace our fingers together.

Rachel was very petite in size. She barely reached my shoulders and I always felt gangly and large next to her. The fact that her hand could disappear in mine and my slippers dwarfed her feet filled me with a million and one body issues. My shirts fit her like dresses and I could barely squeeze my shoulders into her biggest t-shirts. When she got sick, in those last few weeks of her life, I could lift her frail body from the bed and carry her to the bathtub and it felt like I was lifting a child. She joked that I was her 'husband' and I would always smile, but the truth was ... I didn't want to be masculine. I didn't want to be the husband. I wanted to be her equal, but the difference in our sizes made it hard to do that.

With Callie, we're evenly matched. We can swap jeans, shirts, and some shoes. The only thing we can't swap is our rings. Her fingers are a full size larger than mine. It's from how much she uses power tools in the operating room. Every time she complains about that ... I remind her that large fingers on a lesbian means that she's 'well endowed'. And Callie is certainly well endowed. All over. She's curvier than me and I like it just fine. My jeans fit me a little loose, but they hug her in all the right places. Anytime she wears my pants I'm uncomfortable in the ones I'm wearing because I'm that wet. Knowing that she's in something of mine does something to me. I knew the moment I saw her that I COULD love her; I knew that I wanted to, but when she chooses to wear something from my side of the closet I fall just a little more. Because she said she likes to feel me around her ... and that's incredible.

When Callie and I first got together, I compared her to Rachel a lot. I never did it out loud, but I would do a mental inventory in my head. It wasn't fair to Callie and I don't think she ever suspected that I was doing it, but I catalogued everything. All the differences, all the faults, all the similarities, everything became a list that my brain organized on a daily basis. Rachel was a health food nut, health food makes Callie nuts. Rachel wanted complete order in the house and Callie is content to leave her things all over the place and then spend hours trying to find it. Rachel didn't like to be touched at night because she would get too hot, but Callie gets offended if I don't hang onto her. Callie wants sex as often as we can possibly have it, but Rachel was the opposite. She wasn't opposed to sex, she just lived her life by a schedule and spontaneity in the bedroom was ... planned. It wasn't uncommon for me to find a sticky note on the refrigerator door to remind me of 'dirty time'. She was usually the one that needed reminding and if she was distracted with her job as a social worker or if there was stress over a specific case ... I was usually left to my own devices.

I didn't mind back then, but now that Callie has unleashed every sexual fantasy I have EVER had, I fully realize what I was missing out on. The funny thing is though ... I'm really glad that there's so much "new" with Callie. I may have had a few women before her, but she's my first in so many ways.

I loved Rachel. I was so in love with her that I settled onto her backburner and never asked to move. We were best friends, we were lovers, and she was my world, but I wasn't always hers. She was married to her job first and foremost. I was so damn proud of her accomplishments. She never named me in her thank you speeches when the community would give her another award. She would never make eye contact from the stage or mention my contributions, but I knew she was happy with me. I knew that she was my biggest fan the same way that I was hers. I know that because when she got sick, when the leukemia ravaged her, I was the only person she wanted near her. The closeness in those final months more than made up for the nights I sat alone. In those last days, she said everything that I ever wanted to hear and then she released me. She made me promise that I would move on and find love again. If it hurt her that I readily agreed I never knew it. All I knew was that there was more to life than what we had and if I had to experience it all without her ... I was ready to do that.

I once told Callie that I would do anything to have Rachel back healthy and whole. It devastated Callie and I didn't think before I said it ... because if Rachel had been alive today ... this thing with Callie probably wouldn't have happened.

I say probably.

But I really think it would have.

I really think that if Rachel were alive today ... I would have left her for Callie because the moment I saw Callie at Seattle Grace ... I knew that soul mates existed and I wanted her to be mine.

Now she is.

Everything happens for a reason.

And when the plane hits turbulence and jars Callie awake ... I know that it's really meant to be. She's supposed to rescue me from my thoughts because I'm starting to feel introspective and moody. She yawns, rubs her eyes, and signals the flight attendant for some water. She also asks for a blanket. I notice the dirty twinkle in her eye the second she spreads it over us and she wastes no time slipping her hand under the waist band of my comfortable jogging pants.

My toes are curled in my shoes for the final hour of the flight and the things she whispers in my ear makes me euphoric.

I don't even know that the landing was bumpy until I overhear the people next to us mentioning it and we hang back until the flight clears out. She folds the blanket, carefully wiping her hand on it, and then she grins my way. "You ready for a *real* white Christmas? I called Rick before we left and he said they have about ten inches. Should make driving fun."

"Should make driving a horrifying nightmare. Tell me you didn't rent another smart car, Lee, because if you did ... I'm flying home."

She shrugs and I groan. Her priorities really are questionable.

The moment we step off the plane and into the jetway to head into the airport, we're blasted with cold air. My teeth are chattering by the time we make it inside and I see that Callie isn't faring much better. We both stop and dig our coats out of our carry on bags, but I know that we grossly underestimated how much padding we would need. I glance around, trying to see if there is an outfitter nearby and then do a double take at a gaggle of people standing a few feet away. There's a strange tugging in my stomach when my eyes move over a tiny blond woman. She's staring back at me with MY eyes. They're exactly my eyes. The second I smile, she does.

And then Vivian Salinger, my sister, is rushing toward me and announcing to anyone in the vicinity that she would recognize me anywhere. She's followed by two burly men and I know they're my brothers, but I'm gazing at her. If I was five feet of nothing but blond hair, perfect teeth, and the straightest, silkiest hair that a human being could have ... she would be me twenty years ago. Her chin is more pointed than mine, her smile is a little wider, but if I passed her on the street I would do a double take and wonder if we were related. I have to bend down to hug her and she grips me in a rib crushing hug that causes my bones to crackle in frustration. Or elation, I don't know.

When she speaks, her voice is a lot like Lori Anne's. There's a Southern inflection there and I can't wait to find out where she got it. "Hey," she says, still hugging me. "You don't even know how excited we were to find out that you were coming. Damn, that you existed at all. My life," she leans back and gazes up at me. "just got a whole hell of a lot easier since I'm not the only girl anymore. Those buffoons back there can start giving you the third degree instead of saving it all for me. Let me tell you, Erica, you don't know over protective until you grow up with Brutus and Beefcake sneaking around reading your diary and trying to eavesdrop on your phone calls. I'm more than happy to share the wealth, let me tell you. OH! You must be Callie! Dad's told us all about you! Did you really threaten to break his brittle bones? I would have paid to see his expression after that. Nobody around here will say 'boo' to him, but you made an impression, let me tell you. And you're so pretty. Latina women get all the great genes. I dyed my hair black one time and cried for a week because I looked like a corpse, but you look like a movie star. Is that your natural color?"

One of the men reaches around Vivian and covers her mouth with his hand. "I'm sorry," he says, smiling at me. "We accidentally charged her batteries. I'm Richard. Ritchie, actually."

I extend my hand toward him and he grabs it, pulling me into his arms. I don't have a lot of experience with hugging men. I thought that my dad had the broadest chest I had ever been pressed against, but Ritchie is all muscle, all strength. I rest my head against his shoulder and I think that it would have been incredible to be able to cry against it during Rachel's funeral. Instead, I cried into a tissue wishing that Jim, Rachel's brother, could have joined me on the pew. He was a pallbearer and sat on the other side of the church. A pillow, Rachel's pillow, is what held me that night as I screamed my agony into it and tried to let her go. I wish I could have let her go right here because I think Ritchie could have held me together. I feel him rub my back and let him go. He stares at my face, pouring over it, mapping it. I do the same. He's older than me, but he's so much like me it's startling.

Ryan shoves him out of the way by swatting him on the back of the head and then he's hugging me. It's not the rib crushing kind that either of his ... no ... our siblings gave me, but he cups the back of my head and softly says, "Welcome home, Rico. That's your 'R' name."

It touches me so much that I feel tears burning my eyes, but I swat them away as my dad tugs me in for his turn. I watch over his shoulder as Callie is greeted with the same fanfare that I was. She's thoroughly hugged, complemented, and fawned over. I puff up with pride as my brothers and sister admire her engagement ring and listen to her tell them that she actually proposed to *me* because she's younger and always beats me to the punch. She'll pay for that, I think.

Vivian gasps suddenly and punches Ryan in the shoulder. "You idiot! You left their coats over there! If someone stole them -"

"Relax, Rudolph, I've got them right here."

Sure enough, Ryan picks up two puffy marshmallow coats and holds them out to us, saying that he's certain we didn't need them in Miami. They fit perfectly, Callie's is solid white and mine is black. I find matching gloves in the pocket and smile when Vivian pulls my hood on for me, assuring me I'll need it. My brothers are soon laden down with our luggage while Rick loops his arms through mine and Vivian escorts Callie into the cold, blustery snow. The awaiting limousine is an SUV model, heavy, large. I notice the snow chains and feel relieved that I won't be driving us anywhere.

Vivian dominates the conversation as we pull away from the airport. She's still dominating it, grilling Callie about Orthopedics, and trying to wrap her head around why anyone would want to hold a drill all day when Ryan points out the window and tells me we're home. We ease down a driveway that is canopied with lights and it's at least half a mile long. I see a large pond and Ryan tells me that we can ice skate if we want to. I don't break his heart by telling him I'd kill myself if I attempted it and then we're pulling up in front of a house that isn't quite as grand as Callie's mansion in Miami, but it still takes my breath away. Almost every inch of the house is covered with Christmas lights. They're sparkling on the banisters of the wrap around porch and blinking on the columns. Solid lights have been used to create stars and Christmas trees on the side of the house and there are two inflatable nutcrackers standing sentry on either side of the oversized front door.

My brothers won't let me help with the luggage and I take Callie's hand as we climb the stairs. This is a huge moment for me. Huge. Huge isn't even the right word. This is a moment that I have dreamed about so many times in my life that I need her to ground me so that *I* don't float away. I used to conjure images in my head of who my real father was. Every time I felt the bitterness that came from knowing Friedrich Hahn, I would lie on my bed and conjure a life that he had no part of. My father became presidents. He became actors, musicians, poets, Walt Disney, even the founder of Wendy's for a while. Shut up, it's valid. I never got fast food.

As Rick opens the door and lets us walk into the house past him, I know that nothing my imagination afforded me can compare to the real thing. I smell leather immediately and see a library, stocked with wall to wall and floor to ceiling books to our left. I imagine myself at ten years old, not quite as scrawny as I was in real life, curled up in the comfortable looking recliner in the corner as I pour through the collection. Then I imagine myself reading to Vivian as a little girl and glance at my sister. She's waiting for a reaction and I don't know if she wants me to tell her how beautiful the house is or how great it feels to be there. I take off my coat while I weigh my options and Callie does the same. Ritchie hangs them up on a loaded down hall tree and I clear my throat, ready to say something ... anything.

"Oh for heaven's sake!" Vivian cries. "Look up, you two!"

Callie and I oblige her and see a huge amount of mistletoe hung on the ceiling. We both break out into giggles and shake our heads. "KISS HER!" Vivian coaxes. "I've got my camera! And we always get pictures of the family under the mistletoe. Unfortunately Ritchie and I haven't had a date in years, but Ryan keeps us amused with Nuru, that's his wife, she's pretty amorous so we've seen it all. Kiss her, Erica!"

"Stop living vicariously, Rudolph," Ryan tells her.

I wink at my sister and give my fiancé a kiss for her. Vivian tells us to hold it, hold it, hold it and gives us plenty of direction. She wants my hands on Callie's face, then Callie's hands on my face, and then Callie and I are laughing so much that we have to stop. "You might be a pervert," Callie tells Vivian.

Vivian nods in agreement. "Go through a three year dry spell and see if you don't need a new outlet. Photographs are mine. I take pictures of everything, anything, and anyone who is willing. You should see my scrapbooks. I have one for everybody and I've already started yours. I'm making you one as a couple. I'll capture everything on this trip for you. This will be the first picture in there. Dad said you like photos, too, and I've been going through all our albums and getting copies made. One of your Christmas presents is a big old box of pictures so you can see for yourself that our brothers never grew into their ears and I was always the cutest one in the family. Of course, that definitely changes now, Erica, because you're just drop dead gorgeous and I would give anything to be as tall as you. I think I deformed my feet by wearing such high heels my entire life. The first shoes my mother ever bought me for school were heels. I was in a really low percentile for height and she hated it. She was awful tall, but I didn't get that from her. And I didn't get it from Dad either. I always thought I wound up in the wrong family because I'm like three inches away from being a little person when all these men are over six feet, but seeing how much we look alike makes me realize that I belong in this family. And so do you. I'm just so glad to meet you. I'm so glad you exist at all. I always wanted a sister."

Vivian stops talking and drags in a deep breath. I swear, I think it's the first one she's taken since she began her speech. Her eyes land on Callie and she launches again. "And now I have *two* sisters. You're really tall, too. I'm jealous. And you do have the prettiest hair I have EVER seen. Do you think you can curl mine like that? Yours is probably natural, right? Don't tell me if it is ... I'd have to cry or something. My hair won't hold a curl at all."

"Erica has naturally curly hair," Callie tells her, getting herself out of the hot seat. "Springy curls that go everywhere."

Eyes like mine are narrowed in my direction and I can see Vivian studying my semi straight hair. Callie dried it for me. "I hate you on principle, Erica."

My reply is cut off by the arrival of two curly haired moppets. Hayden and Hartley, my six year old niece and nephew, come barreling down the stairs. They are both bellowing at their 'Papa' and I watch with a smile as they attack Rick's legs. He squats down to their level and says, "I saw Santa in town. He's coming tonight so you'll want to be extra good."

I gasp and look at Callie, who is just as shocked as I am. "You - you didn't celebrate -"

Rick shakes his head. "No, honey. We wanted to wait until the family was all here. Now you are."

"Hi!" Hartley, the little girl says, running to me. I squat down the same way Rick did and she rests her hands on my shoulders. "You're my Aunt Erica?"

I nod at her, my hands on her hips. "Hello, Hartley."

"I hope you know bedtime stories. Aunt Vivi don't know any! And she don't know any good voices."

"It's true," Vivian says, ruffling Hayden's hair. "I suck as an Aunt. It won't be hard for you to be the favorite."

Hayden is staring at Callie and when he steps toward her, she squats down beside me. He touches her hair and then his own. "You gots colors like me!"

"Pretty close," Callie agrees, reaching out to poke him in the belly. He giggles and then gives her a kiss on the cheek. "You smell real good. What's your name?"

"I'm Callie."

"Are you an Aunt, too?"

Callie glances at Rick and he says, "She sure is. That's your Aunt Callie."

Hayden turns and sticks his tongue out at Vivian. "Now you gots competition so you better be nicer!"

"*You* be nice, son!"

I turn at the sound of the voice and see Nuru, my sister in law, coming down the stairs. She's beautiful. Her long ebony hair is pulled back from her face and her chocolate colored skin is flawless. Her cheekbones are sharp in a glamorous way and her smile lights up her entire face. I'm sure that Vivian takes rolls upon rolls of film of her, I certainly would. Nuru is breathtaking. She hugs me then gazes into my eyes for several moments. She finally nods and says, "You have an old soul, Erica."

"She's pretty old. It suits her," Callie says, earning a swat from me.

Nuru turns her attention to Callie and studies her the same way she did me. She finally hugs her and says, "And you, Miss Callie, bring some much needed diversity into this overly blond and pale family. You and me, we'll be quite a team."

And just like that ... we belong.

Me and Callie.

Callie and me.

We're still a team. We're still an army of two who can stand up against vandals, fight off the skeletons in our closet to make our own way out of it, and lean on each other for everything.

But now there are more people to bring into our life.

And if Callie Torres has taught me anything it's that my heart is big enough to love.

I plan on loving enough in this trip to make up for the forty plus years that I lost with these people.

I am, after all, addicted to it.

*~*~*~*~

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	2. Chapter 2

I have trouble sleeping in 'my' room at Rick's house.

The bed is comfortable, the decor is nothing short of 'cozy', but if Callie weren't here with me I would toss and turn all night. Every sound the house makes as it settles causes me to open my eyes and look around. This could have been my life as a child. It could have. These peach colored walls could have surrounded me a lot more delicately than the hateful, metal walls of my trailer prison. The only good thing about growing up in a house with wheels is that you never knew what you would see when you woke up. The windows became my television and I would peer out hoping for something more, something better, something like home. More often than not it was another barren field, another empty warehouse, another trailer park that we'd settle into until rent was due. And then it was rolling from one place to another, holding my breath for fresh air that never came.

When Rachel died and left me alone in our apartment, I started to feel claustrophobic. It was the largest place I had ever lived, but having her haunt every room, feeling her presence larger than our life ever was, nearly killed me. I spent weeks looking for the perfect house and I chose the one I did because I could stand on the back deck and see forever. I knew that the view of Seattle in the distance, the green grass, and rolling slope of the yard could give me roots and wings. I finally had something worth looking at out the window and I signed the papers immediately. It was more house than I needed, but I wanted more. I wanted to fill it with something elusive that I had chased my entire life: family.

What Callie doesn't know is that I bought a house, but she made it a home. I certainly wasn't living there with Buddha. I was existing there with Buddha and hanging onto the seconds that Callie's laughter echoed around me. She allowed me to view life through her eyes and became the window I needed to see into my own soul. I didn't always like what I saw inside myself, but I never understood that I could change it until her. I don't think I wanted to. I liked being untouchable. I liked being cruel because life had been cruel to me. But the cruelty has left now and it's become such a distant memory that I have no desire to revisit it.

I hear someone moving around the Salinger house and open my eyes.

Callie's watching me. She's got her head propped on her palm, one hand on my chest, and she's simply staring at me.

I blink a few times. "Hey, you. When did daylight happen?"

"Hey," she replies softly. "About an hour ago."

"What are you doing?"

She smirks a little, drawing one side of her mouth up. "Falling in love with you again."

I'm about to rub my eyes, but stop, giving her my full attention. "Did you fall out of love with me at some point and forget to tell me?"

"Hmm. Since we haven't gotten a memo about Hell freezing over ... I think that's a definite no." She leans in and gives me a kiss. "I just - I like you here. With your family, I mean. Watching you with them and seeing your face in theirs. It's pretty amazing. Thanks for letting me be a part of it."

"You are the best part of it, Lee. If you hadn't left that note at my mother's grave ... none of this would have happened." I roll over and face her, settling my hand against my favorite part of her hip. It's like she was designed to fit me. "It's just ... a lot to take in. You know?"

"You okay?" she asks.

"Yeah," I murmur, my voice thick with exhaustion and maybe a little emotion. "I woke up earlier and I was thinking about how my life would have been different if I had grown up here. Having a real home, a father who would listen to me when I said something, brothers to annoy me, a sister who could make me gnaw my wrist open just to make her shut up."

Callie laughs. "She's a talker."

"She is. And she's everything I usually hate in every other person alive ... she's bubbly, she's happy, her bedroom is Barbie pink and she has a shoe closet, but ... I think ... maybe I already love her. Just because she *is*. You know?" I shrug my shoulders a little. "And I'm not going into this with blinders on. I know this is a honeymoon phase and sometimes families just don't work and you can't force it. I'm a stranger. They're strangers, but -"

"But they have your face," Callie tells me. "And they also have your incredible ability to accept things. They accept you, Erica, and if they don't already ... they *will* love you. Trust me on this. You're irresistible."

I have to kiss her. Any second not kissing her is a cruel waste of time as far as I'm concerned. I love the way she feels in the morning. She's warm, soft and sweet. I'm hugging her when I say, "Did you sleep okay?"

Her hands move over my back, causing me to sigh with contentment. "Better than you."

I ease away so I can see her. "I'm sorry, baby. I hope I didn't keep you awake."

She shakes her head. "I was pretty tired. After the fourth read through of 'Where The Wilds Things Are', I was able to sleep like the dead."

"The kids love you." I pull her down onto my shoulder. "*I* love you. You know it's funny, I was listening to you read to them and I was thinking that you'll do that for our kid one day. You'll crawl in bed with them, open a book, and take them to new places. I can't wait for that. I can't wait to hear you sing them and ... be a mother. I think that you'll be perfect. Better than perfect."

"Well, damn it. Now I'm falling in love with you *again*."

"Wanna prove it?"

She rolls over on top of me and is about to say something that I *know* will push every button I have when someone knocks on the door. She groans just a little when Vivian says, "Are y'all up yet? Can I come in?"

"Sure," I call back, smiling as Callie leaps off me and pulls the cover up to her neck.

"Good morning!" The door swings wide and Vivian beams at us. She's even cuter today. Her hair is piled on top of her head, she's covered herself in a bright fuchsia apron, and she's carrying two glasses of orange juice. I eagerly accept mine and drain most of the glass. She starts talking right away. "I never can remember time zones so I don't know if it's earlier or later than what it would be in Miami. If you're even still on Miami time. If you have jet lag and want to sleep in that's okay, but I cooked pancakes! I'm making no guarantees about the cooking. I'm pretty sure that Brutus and Beefcake only pretend to enjoy it because the last time they insulted my endeavors, I baked them a chocolate cake. With Ex-Lax. I melted four boxes of the chocolate kind and then took all the toilet tissue out of the house and put it in the trunk of my car. It was one of my best moments ever. I was so proud. Of course I was less proud when I found out they had improvised with the new doilies I had just bought, but there were lessons taught, I think. Did you two get any rest? I know it's hard in a new place, but I put lavender potpourri out thinking that would help relax you."

"Everything's perfect," I assure her, trying not to laugh at her tale. Out of the corner of my eye I can see that Callie is very amused with my sister and honestly ... so am I. "I'm famished so I can't wait to try your pancakes."

"Do you like to cook? Please say yes!" Vivian says, holding out her hands for our empty glasses. I nod at her and she practically bounces up and down. "Yes! I knew it! I can tell. You can always spot another cook. It's the way you were so careful at dinner, the way you savored things. You don't just shovel it down like our idiotic brothers. I swear, Ritchie has done the Heimlich Maneuver on Ryan so many times. Men are beasts and," she slows down, glancing at me, then Callie. "Not that you actually have to worry about that. I think it's great that you're lesbians. I like lesbians. I would never *be* a lesbian because ... well, men are beasts, but they're pretty handy occasionally. Especially when they're shaped like Brad Pitt. Or Johnny Depp. I approve of you two, though. Love is just a good thing and I hope that you'll let me help you plan your wedding because I sure do love weddings. Well, not my own. Actually, I hated everything about mine. My wedding planner kind of sucked and I'm pretty sure that my husband was screwing her, but I learned what mistakes not to make. So, I'm volunteering. Really. I can help."

"We would love that," Callie tells her. "I'm in way over my head trying to plan anything. So we need help."

"Excellent!" Vivian grins so big that I swear I see every tooth in her head. "Okay, I'm gonna let you two get dressed. I can't wait to celebrate Christmas with you. I had so much fun shopping for my two *sisters*. Everywhere I went ... every store that I bought something from ... I told them all about you. It's like an episode of Dr. Phil. Oooh, or Oprah. I like her better. And now you're here. Yay!"

She turns on her heel and then turns back just as quickly, facing us again. She moves both glasses to one hand and fishes something out of the pocket of her apron. She snaps our photo several times before I realize that she has retrieved a camera. I know that my bed head probably matches Callie's and that will *not* be cute, but I can't be bothered to mind. Vivian grins at us and gives us a wave before she walks out.

Callie, who has pulled the cover up to her nose in an attempt to hide from the camera, meets my eyes over the comforter. "Erica?"

"What?"

"You are so much like her. You and your camera in Italy ... I nearly smashed you in the head with it."

"Well, I don't talk as much as her."

"No, but you still manage to say everything I need to hear."

"I learned from you, Lee."

*~*~*~*~

If it's possible to make up for lost time, that's exactly what Christmas in Nebraska does for me. The kids had no idea that Christmas was late for them and I sit on the sofa next to Callie as we watch them tear through their gifts. The Salinger family is just as generous as the Torres clan. Callie and I are given so much that we make plans to buy a new suitcase, but Vivian assures us that she can ship it to us straight away. Callie agrees to go sledding with my brothers and the kids after lunch, leaving me alone with Rick and Vivian.

I reach for the box of photos that Vivian copied for me and she joins me on the sofa, quietly watching me sift through them. Rick is also watching from a few away and I suddenly feel self conscious, like I'm tap dancing through someone's memories and noisily reminding them that I should have been there. It's a little startling to see that Vivian's baby photographs are almost identical to my own. I only have a few of myself, but there are hundreds of Vivian. Our physical likeness is the only similarity. She looks clean, well cared for, and loved. She's smiling in every shot. I never smiled at all. In my pictures, I'm always in need of a bath or a comb through my hair. And my clothes never fit me the way hers did. She has school photos, photos of her gap toothed smile as she lost her baby teeth, but it never did me any good to bring home the ordering form for my school pictures. I have no photos from school. Nothing.

I find something in the box of memories that I thought I had outrun. I find loneliness. I find myself gazing a little too long at their family portraits and trying to superimpose myself onto them. I find birthday parties captured on film and I can hear them singing, I can hear the wrapping paper tearing, I can taste the cake and ice cream. It's bitter. It's bitter and sour and just a little hard to swallow. I *should* have been there. I *could* have been there. If Rick Salinger had knocked on the door of my trailer and told me to come with him ... I wouldn't have asked a single question. I would have known right away that I was a part of him, that his life was a part of me.

"It's hard for you." Vivian's voice is light. It's not a question, it's an observation. "Looking at this stuff. It's hard for you. I was afraid it would be."

I put the lid back on the box even though I've only seen half of what it holds inside. "It is hard, but I really do appreciate it, Vivian. It was incredibly thoughtful."

"I know that it doesn't matter much now, but I would give anything if you could have been here my whole life." She smoothes a wrinkle off her pants and glances at Rick, then back at me. "I don't forgive him for what he did to you. I refuse to forgive him because it's unforgivable. You don't turn your back on family."

Rick says nothing, but he shifts a little in his seat.

Vivian doesn't seem to mind that she's making things tense. She leans back, crosses her arms over her chest, and carries on. "I was with him that day in the graveyard when he found your note. I don't know if this will help at all, Erica, but he loved your mother. He still loves your mother. We go out there to her grave every couple of weeks and take new stuff. She's got a pretty white Christmas tree this year. Last year it was blue. He said she liked blue. Anyway, I was there the day that he found the note and that's the day he told me about you. I wanted to come with him to Seattle so much, but he needed to meet you on his own. When he came back, he said that Mary Elizabeth, your mom, had given him a gift in you and he was fool to squander it. So, I want you to know that I don't forgive him for what he did to you, I'll never be okay knowing that you weren't part of us when you should have been, but I think that your mom sent you here for him. For us. To make it right. I just wish she'd had better damn timing because it sure did take a long time. Oh god! I forgot to take the cookies out of the oven! I'll be back!"

Rick takes a deep breath and shakes his head. "If you asked me what her first word was ... I couldn't tell you. One day she went to bed cooing and the next day she was spewing soliloquies over the crib railing."

"She's incredible." I set the box of photos on the coffee table and pick up my cup of coffee. "Thank you so much for inviting us here, for letting us spend time with everyone. And ... for postponing Christmas."

"It's my pleasure, believe me." He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I wish you could stay longer."

I make a face. "You and me both. Unfortunately, Callie's got a huge case she's working on and the holidays are always busy for me. I think people get their credit card bills from Christmas and start dropping like flies."

"My daughter, the heart surgeon."

I swell with pride because he does. I sent my adoptive parents a postcard to let them know that I had chosen medicine as my career, but they never replied. They never replied to any of my notes, but I still sent them, I still reached out. And I would still bound up the stairs of my college post office to see if anyone remembered birthdays or wanted to congratulate me for a passing grade. It's funny, I was away from home for the first time, surrounded by other Ivy Leaguers, and all I wanted was a reminder that someone back home knew I existed. I couldn't wait to leave Nebraska, but I didn't want Nebraska to leave me. I longed for someone from back home to seek me out just once ... so I would know I had really moved on.

And here I am, back in Nebraska, just a few miles from the burned out trailer and graves of my past.

"She's right, you know?"

Pulled from my thoughts, I focus on Rick again. "Who?"

"Vivian. I did love your mother. I do love your mother. I know that she was young and that I took advantage of her, but sometimes youth is infectious and it can shake you up."

I hear a peal of laughter from Callie outside, followed by enthusiastic outbursts from the twins. "Callie's younger than me, which she enjoys reminding me lately. And you're right ... it's infectious. I - I can understand why you - did it."

He studies me before he speaks. It's almost uncomfortable. "Don't do that, Erica. Don't excuse what I did or make it so easy on me that I don't have to work for it. I want you to love me more than anything, but let me earn it. Don't do it just because it's my blood in your veins. Do it because I give you a reason."

"You've given me a lot of reasons. I mean, I'm here. You may have waited a long time to find me, but you did find me. I may wish like hell that you had done it years ago, but I'm not complaining. It's happening now."

"You're just like your mother. She could find a silver lining in anything. One time, I took her to a fair that was out of town. We rarely got to go and do anything normal like that. She was so excited, she had never ridden any rides before and she wanted to go on everything twice. I couldn't keep up with her. I let her pull me around from one thing to another and tried to match her pace, but I wound up on my knees behind the bumper cars throwing up everything I had *ever* eaten. And she just rubbed my back and said that it was the best night of her life. She didn't care that I had *failed*, she cared that I had *tried*. Did you - were you able to know her?"

"I would see her once or twice a year." I gnaw on the inside of my lip to stop it from trembling. "She never hid the fact that she was my mother from me. And she would always tell me that she'd come back for me, that she would take me with her, and I believed her. I always believed her."

"I don't think she was lying to you. Addiction is -"

"Cruel," I interject. "Addiction is cruel. It's easily blamed for what happened to her and for what happened to my adoptive parents, too. But the real culprit in their life was them. It took me a long time to realize that the reason they gave up on me is because they had given up on themselves. I blamed myself for years, labeled myself as unlovable, and did my best to keep people at arm's length because of what they did to me. So, don't tell me not to love you, Dad. Because I've been waiting my whole life to do that."

We both get to our feet at the same time and then he's wrapping me in a hug. I can feel him shaking and I know that he can hear me sniffling, but we just stand there. Sometimes the greatest feeling in the world is letting yourself fall straight into someone else.

"Hold that! HOLD THAT POSE!"

Vivian's camera starts clicking again and I smile against my father's shoulder.

This picture will make it's way onto my wall the same way my family has made its way into my heart.

*~*~*~*~

There's never enough time in the world. Ever. People love to complain about eight hour work days or rush from one moment to the next in an attempt to cram life in, but I choose to stop and live it. I set my alarm clock early most mornings so that I can watch Callie sleep. I savor those seconds, those minutes, as her chest rises and falls. I like to steal time with her in on call rooms, which is still a little appalling to me because it makes me one of those people. I watch the sun rise and set every chance I get because there may not be a tomorrow. And when I lie down to sleep beside her, I try to chase drowsiness away long enough to enjoy the feel of her beside me for just a little while longer.

There's never enough time.

I thought that forty eight hours with my family would be enough. I imagined that I would be more than ready to extricate myself from the bounty of belonging and happily crave my own house, but I was wrong. Even though I tried with every fiber of my being to stop and enjoy each moment, it's over in the blink of an eye and I'm holding onto Ritchie in the same spot where he greeted me two days ago. Seattle has never felt so far away and I've never had a harder time saying goodbye to anyone. Rachel left me slowly, one day at a time, and watching her fade was a blessing and curse because at least it prepared me.

And there were times that I watched Callie leave me, unsure if she would be back, and I would sink to the floor every time and claw for purchase.

But this? It's a new kind of hell.

And Seattle has never felt so far away.

I've been hanging onto my resolve with the tips of my fingers since our final lunch. I listened to Callie explain to the twins why we had to leave and then let them wrap their arms around me and cry as I said goodbye. They showered my face with kisses and clung to my legs until the last possible second. I haven't cried. I don't want to cry and let that be the last image they have before I go, but I'm close. I've never had such a sore throat from trying to swallow down the lump before. It's hard to talk around it. I can hear the strain in my voice with the same intensity that I feel it.

I move on to Ryan, who lifts me off my feet in a bear hug. "I'll see you soon, Rico," he tells me. "Nuru can't wait to visit Seattle."

I kiss his cheek when he puts me back on my feet and then Rick is there. He doesn't lift me off my feet at all, but I swear to God I'm weightless in his arms. He cups my face a moment later and looks into my eyes, "Call me when you land."

"I will," I assure him. "Thank you again. For everything."

"For heaven's sake! It's my turn! Just because you're all bigger than me doesn't mean that I have to go last! Move, Dad!" Vivian elbows past him and throws her arms around my waist. "I'm booking a flight when I get home. I can't wait to come and see your house and your hairless cats and the wall of photos. Callie's told me so much! I'm gonna get to meet Addison and Jasper and see where you work! I'll be the perfect houseguest, I swear! You won't even know I'm there. Well, that's probably overstating because we all know that I'd talk the ears off a goat if I had a chance, but if you tell me to shut up I will. I really will. I think I would be willing to try my hand at silence for you, but you're the only one that I'd do it for. I really can't wait to see you again, Sis. You're incredible and ... I said it already, but I'm glad you're here. I'm less glad that you're going, but we need to accentuate the positive and ... well, I'm positive that we're gonna have a great life now!"

I laugh. I laugh until I can't breathe and hug her until my arms ache. "I think you're right. Sis."

It's time to go. We can't stay another minute or we'll never make it through security. With a heavy heart, I pick up my bag. Callie's hand moves into my free one and she locks our fingers together, squeezing me, reassuring me. I tell myself that I won't look back at all, but I'm looking back before we're five feet away. I'm still looking back at ten feet, then twenty. And when the security guard runs his metal detector over me, I can see them all waiting just beyond the ropes. The airport is small, but it's a continental divide. I pick up my bag again and wait for Callie. She joins me a second later and we both wave goodbye.

They're still standing there when the crowd shuffles me forward and swallows me. I'm the one who disappears. I'm the one who has to go.

Feeling like a zombie, I trudge beside Callie toward our terminal. She's quiet and I know that she's letting me have time to process, but I really, really need to stop playing with my thoughts. It's a dangerous playground for me, when I'm alone with all the things that could have been. I need her to say something, anything, to help me cope.

"Wanna go have sex in the bathroom, Yellow?"

I grin.

That's a good start.

*~*~*~*~

I was never able to talk to Rachel about my surgeries. She was squeamish. If she found me in the living room watching something on Discovery Health Channel, she would turn green and tell me that she was never eating again. It was pointless to try to explain why being able to massage a heart back to life or whip stitch with precision was so important to me. Blood and gore was something she avoided at all costs and if she asked me how my day was, I learned fast to answer with 'fine' even if I had just performed a quadruple bypass and then lost the patient an hour later. If I brought a case home with me and let it weigh on my mind, she would dismiss it by telling me that I knew what I was getting into. It shocked me sometimes that should could be so callous about my job when I hung on every word she had to tell me about hers.

Her job covered every inch of our apartment. Smiling faces of the children she helped were stuck to our refrigerator with magnets. I'd find finger painted art on our bedroom wall, dust the motley assortment of hand made pottery that the children would gift her with, and I'd always ask if I could do anything to lighten her load, but she never let me. The wrongs in the world consumed her. Every abused child, every kid that she returned to the system who wound up dead, every mother who stuck another baby in a dumpster was a nail in her coffin. I'd find her bleary eyed at three in the morning trying to find more loopholes, more money, more compassion, more laws to back her up. I'd bring her coffee and listen to her rant about how fucked up life could be and I'd think about telling her that I knew first hand, but I didn't. I couldn't. She had enough pain of her own without mine adding to it.

Her happiest times were always circled on calendars. If she had placed a child with a family who would adopt him or her, she would circle the date with a heart and then sit in the back of the courtroom to watch the proceedings. She would get to see her handiwork pay off and know that she had created a family where there was none. Saving a child from a life of abuse was just as important as saving a child from a faulty heart valve and I never thought otherwise. I just rolled with it.

However, as I tell Callie about the open heart surgery that plagued me for five hours this morning, she's giving me her undivided attention. The fact that she's eating when I tell her that O'Malley nicked an artery and I was washing blood off my face for twenty minutes doesn't phase her. We may as well be on a deserted island because she doesn't pay attention to anyone in the hospital cafeteria. She eats her sandwich and nods in all the right places when I explain my frustrations about clumsy interns. And then she asks me questions about the surgery that only someone who *gets* it would possibly ask. She doesn't want to know if I'm fine, she wants to know what kind of stitch I used to suture the tear. It's incredible to have someone understand my job and actually want to know the details.

I'm about to ask her to visit the on call room when Addison joins us. She looks frazzled. Pregnancy hasn't been kind to her thus far. She's not showing yet, but that's not surprising. Addy is usually in the bathroom heaving the moment she walks into the hospital and she's told us more than once that she can't keep anything down. Her face looks a little gaunt as she takes a sip of her water.

Callie's worried about her. I can see it in her face when she leans forward and rubs her arm. "You want me to go and get you some crackers?"

"I just spent forty five minutes doing a rape kit on a nineteen year old." Addison shakes her head. "She may not make it."

I've seen Addison Montgomery shaken to her foundation before. I've witnessed some truly spectacular outbursts, my favorite involving the total desecration of Mark Sloan with a dozen roses, but I've never seen her like this. Her hands are shaking as she screws the lid back on her bottle. When you are a doctor, some cases stay with you, no matter how many times you wash the blood away. "I'm sorry," I tell her. "Are you okay?"

"That's the second one in two weeks," Addison replies. "The other one, she walked out of here a few days ago. She was broken, but she held her head up. I just ... I want this one to walk, too. She's nineteen. She's ... *nineteen*."

"Who did it?" Callie asks. "Do they know?"

"No. They found her behind that big warehouse over on Mercury. Intense hypothermia. Mark's got her up in surgery now taking off a few toes and a couple of fingers. She was out there in the cold ... after being raped, just ... left there. And I'm bringing a child into a world like this." Her big blue eyes well with tears. "And I'm starving to death. A person cannot exist on Saltines and water, guys. I want a bagel oozing cream cheese and coffee big enough to swim in."

"I can probably swing the bagel, but Mark would kick my ass for the coffee," Callie tells her, getting to her feet. "Stay right here, I'm going to go sweet talk the cook."

Addison dabs at her eyes with a napkin. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "How - how was your trip? Callie said that your sister is a lot of fun. I heard all the lovely details. Even the chattering that Vivian did sounds endearing when Callie explained it."

A feeling of total adoration for my fiancé moves over me. There's something special in knowing that she talks about our life, that she thinks of me when I'm not there, the same way I do with her. I follow Callie with my eyes as she coaxes her way behind the food buffet and disappears into the hospital kitchen. "Vivian is incredible, but the trip was over too soon. I wanted to stay there longer. A lot longer."

Addy blows her nose. "The best trips are always the ones that ache when they end. You'll go back soon."

"I don't see how. We're both slammed and -"

"You didn't hear this from me, but a certain someone bribed Webber to adjust your schedules next month. That someone was able to get a four day weekend out of him without giving up any vacation days. I do believe I saw that certain someone booking flights to Nebraska as well."

It's official. I need a preemptive running whip stitch on my heart because it's about to burst. I hear Callie's laugh before she appears again. I stare at the kitchen, waiting to see her, and she's carrying a plate when she comes out. It's the little things about Callie that I love the most. It's the way she cares about other people enough to make small, inconsequential gestures. She'll put your bookmark in your book if you doze off reading it. She'll remember to cut the crust off a six year old's sandwich after only being told once. She'll hold open the door for a stranger or strike up a conversation with a little old woman in a store just to brighten their day. And she'll go and find a bagel for her best friend and make it ooze with cream cheese without being asked. Just because she can. Calliope Torres has taught me that the littlest movements in life are the ones that matter most. It only takes a fraction of an inch to move the world.

Callie puts the plate with the bagel in front of Addison and glances around the cafeteria before she sets a paper cup beside it. "It's just a splash of decaf. It's also loaded down with milk so I don't feel *really* guilty, but drink it fast. I don't need another speech from Daddy Do Right about me ruining your kid before it gets here."

Addison eagerly attacks the coffee and then licks foam off her top lip. "He told you off about the baby clothes, huh?"

"That's putting it mildly," Callie says. "Most normal men wouldn't have a problem with it."

"How many babies do you see wearing rompers that say 'My mommy tamed a manwhore and I'm living proof', Cal?"

I gasp. "Oh, Lee, tell me you didn't!"

"What? That was just *one* of the sayings. There were others."

"I'm afraid to ask," I say. "But do tell."

Addison beats her to it. "Well, there's a red one that says 'Product of Hot Monkey Loving' and a blue one that says 'I'm glad Daddy didn't shoot me down the drain' and my personal favorite says 'I'm the shit. Take a whiff'."

"I thought you would like the one that says 'My Mom's the Original Firecrotch' best." Callie pops a chip in her mouth, smiling evilly. "I would *think* that the crib more than made up for the clothes, though."

"Mark's not over that either. He assembled it Christmas night and then dropped in that big bear from your parents ... and it fell apart. The crib, I mean. Mark's not a ... builder. His mighty ego was murdered. All your fault, according to him."

Callie rolls her eyes. "I'll come over this weekend and put it together."

"Thank you." Addison devours half of her bagel in a few bites. "God, this is good."

She's able to wolf it down and drain her coffee before her pager goes off. I really hope that it stays down. When she leaves, I glance at Callie and say, "New rule, Torres. *I* buy the baby clothes for our offspring."

"Too late, honey. I already started and *our* baby has a onesie that says 'If you think my mom is a hottie, you should see my other one'."

On call rooms are bliss.

Callie doesn't make any small gestures in there, but she does make me scream into a pillow.

Life is good.

*~*~*~*~

New Year's Day arrives with a bang.

Literally.

A hostage situation turns deadly when the gunman shoots two officers and himself. Jasper is the one who alerts us that something big is happening on the television. Callie and I both grab our pagers as we watch the news, waiting for the summons, but it doesn't come. Neither of us are on call at the hospital and not even a plea to the Chief can earn us an invitation. He assures me that Callie and I should spend the day away from the melee and thanks me for the offer. In a way, I'm grateful to be shot down. Lori Anne is cooking in the kitchen, making the house smell like heaven. Santos is tinkering with the new iPhone that he bought Jasper, and swearing every time it beeps at him. According to Jasper, all the cool kids have one, and none of us can deny Jazz. It's his last day with us before he heads back to the clinic. It needs to count. For Callie's sanity, it needs to be last for a while.

Callie is trying to explain what is happening on the news to her brother when I rejoin her on the sofa. Jazz is sitting in the floor at her feet, gazing at her with rapt attention. It feels wrong to tell him something so vile on the first day of a new year, but she does it anyway. It destroys me to watch his face fall when he fully grasps the magnitude of murder and what people do to one another. He looks back at the television in silence and she reaches down, sliding her fingers through his hair. It's just as curly as hers. "Jazz, it's okay."

"Are we supposed to cry?" he asks, looking up at her. "For that bad man who died? We are, right?"

"You shouldn't cry because he's dead, buddy, you should cry because he didn't live a very good life. He wasted it."

"Life?" Jazz looks bewildered, confusion mars his features. "He wasted life?"

"Yeah."

"Mama says I waste too much toothpaste, but I like the way it tastes." He rests his chin on her knee. "How do you waste a life, Lee?"

She chews her bottom lip and I see that Jazz mirrors her movements, biting his own. They're quite a pair and they both own shares in my heart. They both live there, they both move me so much sometimes that I stumble, and they both unnerve me with their candor. They're so brutally honest with each other at times that I can't believe it. I start to open my mouth and say anything to distract him, but Callie quietly says, "You waste life by not stopping to taste it. It doesn't always taste good, but -"

"Like celery?" Jazz offers. "That's not good."

"Right, just like celery," Callie replies. "You taste the bad things in life, but you remember the good things, too. That makes you want to keep living."

"Good things like ice cream!"

"Yep. That's a great thing to live for."

Jazz picks up the remote control and turns the television off.

Callie goes back to playing with his hair until he reaches up and grips her hand.

"I won't waste my life, Lee."

"I know, buddy."

"But I won't taste celery ever again either. And you can't make me. That would piss me off."

"JASPER TORRES! What did I tell you about saying piss, son?!" Lori Anne cries from the kitchen. I hear her scampering across the hardwood and brace myself. There is flour on her face when she arrives. She puts a hand on her hip and points her finger at her youngest child. "You listen here, young man, I have had it with your foul language."

"You said I couldn't say shit or fuck, Mama, because those were sinful." He points his finger back at her. "And Callie said that piss isn't bad because everybody pisses."

Callie giggles. "Everybody shits and fuc-"

"CALLIOPE!" Lori Anne stomps her foot. "You are undermining me every chance you get! And I won't stand for it. Tell your brother to watch his language or I'll give you the spanking he earns."

Jasper gasps. "You wanna hit Callie 'cause I said something bad?"

Lori Anne crosses her arms over her chest. "That's right. So you watch yourself."

"I won't say it no more. Really." Jazz gets to his feet, putting himself between Callie and their mother. "And maybe you need to lay off the celery because it's making you mean. Go find some damn ice cream and stop wasting life!"

"Santos, do something about your son this instant!"

"I can't figure this god damn phone out, Lori Anne. Why in the hell is everything so complicated? For the love of God, whoever invented touch screens needs to be electrocuted. I just dialed someone in Haiti by mistake and I'm pretty sure they called me a son of bitch."

"Dad says bad words and you're not yelling at him." Jasper scratches his head. "This is confusing. I need to go walk."

"I need a valium," Lori Anne says, returning to the kitchen.

I need to laugh. And I do that, long, hard, and loud.

*~*~*~*~

I'm not laughing a few hours later. I'm actually in danger of never smiling again.

Callie knows my buttons. She knows which ones she should push in bed and she knows which ones she needs to avoid at all costs. She's also not stupid so I don't know how she thought I wouldn't see right through her clever little ruse. I'm furious. Actually, I'm so far past furious that my vision is blurred enough to give her the car keys after we drop Jasper off. Her parents followed us in their rental thanks to all of Jasper's luggage and I'm almost tempted to ride with them. I don't, though. I climb into the passenger seat of Callie's SUV and yank the seat belt across my lap.

"Erica."

"Don't."

"I can explain."

"Save your breath."

"Can you please hear me out?"

"I told you in no uncertain terms that I did not want you donating money to the clinic. And if you tell me that Joel did it, the same Joel that rooted around in the sand to find a quarter for half an hour on Christmas morning, I will scream! He's in love with money and there is NO WAY he would have donated two hundred thousand dollars to this place! So don't lie to me."

"They need classrooms that aren't trailers, Yellow. You said yourself that they had outgrown the building. Besides, you were miserable in a trailer growing up so why would you want that here?"

I glare at her. "You actually just went there."

"Yeah, I did. I went there and I'm not apologizing for it. If I can help ... I'm helping. My *brother* is here."

"And you think it isn't good enough for him?"

"I didn't say that."

"Do you know how hard I work? How much money I sink into this place at the end of every month? The way that I juggle everything to give as much as I can and try to stretch every dime into a dollar for these people?"

She shakes her head. "No, I don't. I kinda suspected it, but you don't let me see your -"

"This is *my* thing, Callie. And you took it away."

"No, I didn't. When are you gonna realize that my money is your money? This is *our* gift to the clinic."

"Well it's funny that *our* gift to the clinic had Joel's name on it. You were hiding it from me."

"And you are doing a great job of illustrating why I had to hide it. You can't stand to be one-upped. You can't tolerate anyone doing something a little better than you because you always have to be the best. Well, here's a newsflash, Hahn, you've met your match. And you can either deal with it and enjoy the fruits of my very generous labor or you can piss and moan. Either way, it's done. It's final."

"There isn't a person alive who can one-up me, Torres, and you'd be wise to remember that."

"Oh, I'm shaking in my shoes." She starts the car and points it toward home. "And just for the record, your bark is a hell of a lot worse than your bite and even that doesn't scare me."

I seethe for a good ten minutes and she exacerbates the seething by finding a Whitney Houston song to sing on the radio. The only thing worse than being one-upped is having the person who did it prove that they can out sing you as well. Not that I'd be caught dead singing 'I Wanna Dance With Somebody', but the point is ... she's good. She's damn good. And she knows what she's doing is entertaining me enough to distract me from the real problem. I tell myself I won't let her. I tell myself that I'll stay pissed off and make her apologize, but I'm a liar.

I turn the radio off when she starts to sing Leona Lewis. She's done that in bed and it's mind altering. "Callie, you have to talk to me about things like this. You can't just go behind my back and do it. If you want your money to be my money then I should at least get to have an opinion on where it goes."

"I have a twenty in my pocket. Would you mind if it goes to Starbucks?"

"I'm serious."

"I am, too. Eggnog latte. You in?"

"Hell no. That's sick. And that's not the point." I wait until she glances my way. It's just a brief look and then her eyes are back on the road. "When I ask you not to do something, I expect you to respect that. I *demand* that you respect that."

"Are you demanding that I respect that because you're angry that I somehow outdid you with this donation? Or are you demanding that I respect that because you want to control me? Because either of those two options don't sit well with me, Erica. I'm not trying to compete with you. I made the donation because they sorely needed the funding and because they have made such a difference in Jasper's life. I didn't make that donation to make you feel like I was competing with you. And our life? It should never be reduced to a competition. We're equal. Until you start acting like this."

"How am I supposed to be acting? Should I be throwing myself all over you for reminding me of what I can't do? That doesn't sit well with *me*!"

"Last year, when Jim got a twenty thousand dollar grant you bounced off the walls in excitement. If this money came in from a grant or from someone else, you would be elated right now! Why can't you just be happy!?"

"It's not just about the money! You did something that I specifically asked you not to do and I'm mad as hell!"

"Then sit over there are stew quietly before *I* get mad as hell!"

"YOU KNOW I'M RIGHT, CALLIE! YOU KNOW I AM!" I yell.

She flinches and I see her nostrils flare.

I know I've pushed HER buttons when she drives past Starbucks without so much as slowing down.

It dawns on me that I may have PUNCHED her buttons when she pulls into the driveway and wordlessly gets out of the car. She opens the other door for her parents and goes upstairs without looking back. I make small talk with Santos and Lori Anne and I'm acutely aware that they know something has happened. I tell them I'm going to Starbucks and offer to bring them back something, but they assure me they want to go to sleep. Early flights or whatever.

The house is silent when I return with a noxious smelling eggnog latte. I drop my keys on the table and head upstairs to the bedroom that Callie and I share. She's nowhere to be seen, but I can smell her soap. I knock once on the bathroom door before I push it open. She's coming out of the shower and I'm treated to a lovely view of her reddened skin before she pulls a towel around herself.

"I come in peace." I hold the latte out, waiting for her to take it.

"I shouldn't have done it," she says by way of acknowledgement. "I - I shouldn't have. I didn't stop to think that the clinic is your thing with Rachel and I had no right to intrude on that. There are parts of your life that are *yours* and I shouldn't interfere. I was wrong. I'm sorry."

"Hey." I set the latte on the counter and reach for her. "There is no part of my life that you could ever 'intrude' on or 'interfere' with. You're always invited, everywhere. And the clinic wasn't my thing with Rachel. It was hers and I stuck with it because it seemed like the right thing to do."

"I'm sorry," she repeats.

"I'm sorry, too." I cup her face, forcing her to look at me. I regret it when she starts to cry. I'd like to say that I'm immune to it. I'd like to say that I'm strong enough, mean enough, and infallible enough not to feel scalded by her tears, but that's a lie. Just one ... just one that *I* cause will keep me awake for days. "Don't, Cal. Please? You know I can't stand it when you do this."

"I just - I really hate it when you yell at me. I hate it."

It's hard to understand her because she sobs the words out, but I hear her loud and clear. "I know, baby. I'll work on that, I promise. I'm sorry."

The towel slides from her body when she hugs me. I'm facing the mirror and I can see every curvy inch of her backside.

I apologize to every curvy inch of her.

When we're tangled up in the bed a little while later, I hang onto her a little tighter than normal.

She doesn't seem to mind.

And she's all smiles the following morning when we accompany her parents to the airport.

Callie Torres is the most passionate woman I've ever known. She could argue with God and probably make him change the Commandments. She could spend ten minutes with bin Laden and make his legs buckle in fear. Whether she is debating the nutritional content of Big Macs or maintaining that oatmeal should be banned, she does it with fire. It's always a sight to behold and I feel pretty damn lucky to get to see the best and worst in her. All the facets that make her who she is, she shares those with me.

I see her when she's enraged and she doesn't hide it from me. She storms like a wildfire and stands toe to toe with me, never backing down.

And then she lets me see her break even though she knows that it breaks *me*.

But Callie Torres is also a *compassionate* woman ... and she lets me love us back together every single time.

I know all the way to my soul that we'll never break ourselves enough to end this.

We need each other too damned much.

*~*~*~*~*~

"Excuse me, Ma'am?"

I glance up from the chart I'm working on and focus on the petite blond who addressed me. She's got her head cocked to one side as her blue eyes move over the front of my lab coat. She's familiar. There's something in her face I've seen before. "Yes?"

"Can you tell me where the Orthopedic wing is? I'm looking for," she pulls a piece of paper from her pocket, "Calliope Torres and Gavin Cole."

"And you are?"

She folds the paper, giving me a dimpled smile. "What are you? Security?"

I close the chart and hold it in front of me, studying her a little closer. "Have we met?"

The dimples vanish. "Oh god. Did we have a one night stand or something? In my defense, when I get a few drinks in me ... anything goes."

"No, I don't think so."

"My loss then, huh?" She openly appraises me now and she's looking at my labcoat for very different reasons.

I lift the chart higher to cover my breasts. "I didn't catch your name."

"I didn't throw it. Arizona Robbins, Pediatrics. I'm Emma Foster's doctor and it looks like I'm going to be calling Seattle Grace home for a while."

I smile at her. She's a doctor. That's why she's familiar. "We're pretty fond of Emma around here."

"We were pretty fond of her at Mercy, too. I can't figure out why her parents insisted on bringing her here." She holds her hand out to me and I shake it. "Nice to meet you, Erica Hahn."

"You know my name?"

"It helps when it's written on your jacket." She winks playfully. "And now that I've said your name out loud, I think I remember you. Does Rachel Phillips ring a bell?"

My eyes widen. "She was - yeah, she rings a bell."

"I was just an intern back then so I was always the one they sent to testify at the abuse trials. Grunt work, I suppose, but it taught me a lot. I used to regale Rachel with all the gory stories from the E.R. and she would threaten to kill me. She had such a weak stomach. It was sad at times. You were her friend, right? I think I saw a photo of you on her desk."

I shift my weight from one foot to the other. "Yeah, best friends."

"Sucks that she died." Arizona gets a faraway look in her eyes. "She was one of those one night stands that become more before you know it and you never get over it. I could have loved her. You know, if she wasn't married to her job. And if she didn't hate my job."

I can't breathe.

I can't move at all.

"So, where's Ortho?"

"You - you and Rachel -"

Arizona absently adjusts her purse strap, nodding enough to make her blond curls bounce. "We were fine until she got sick. Then she just ... stopped returning my calls. She couldn't bear to be a burden, I think. I hope that you were there for her. I'd ask if she ever mentioned me, but I really don't want to know. I made peace with it years ago."

"Second floor," I manage to wheeze out. "Ortho."

"Thanks! I'll see you around, Erica Hahn. Probably a lot. I'm married to *my* job now."

I make it to the bathroom before I puke up my breakfast.

And then I stay on my knees through lunch, praying to the porcelain Gods that I'm having a nightmare.

I know that I'm not.

I also know that I'll never be the same.

*~*~*~*~

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	3. Chapter 3

_*~*~*~*~_

_"Hey, Rach. How did the hearing go?"_

_"They postponed my testimony. I have to go back tomorrow."_

_"So, you're done for the day?"_

_"Uh, no. I'm probably going to be here for a few hours still. Don't wait up for me."_

_"Come home, baby. Please? I stopped at the store on my way home and I'm cooking you -"_

_"Erica, I can't."_

_"I feel like I haven't seen you in forever."_

_"We'll try to get away in the fall."_

_"You always say that, Rachel, but it never happens. I miss you. I never see you anymore."_

_"I have to go._

_*~*~*~_

_"I need to leave town for a few days, Erica."_

_"But-"_

_"I know. I know we had plans this weekend, but I think we may have found that missing kid. I'm going down to Oregon to help with identification."_

_"Can't the *police* do that?"_

_"I want to do it."_

_"You did remember that it's my birthday, right?"_

_"What? Shit! I - I'll make this up to you, I swear."_

_"I could take some time off. I'd love to see Oregon this time of year and -"_

_"You'd be bored. You deserve a *fun* trip. We can go to Canada when I get back. Long weekend?"_

_"I miss you already."_

_*~*~*~*~*~_

_"Is there someone else? Tell me, Rachel! The truth!"_

_"I'm not going to dignify that with a response."_

_"Who is she?"_

_"There's no one!"_

_"I swear to God, I'll leave you. If you're doing this to me ... I'll leave and not look back."_

_"I'm just busy, Erica! I'm busy as hell!"_

_"Don't you dare break my heart! Don't you dare! If there is someone-"_

_"STOP IT!"_

_"Where do you go when you're not here? What are you doing?!"_

_"It's not important!"_

_"IT IS TO ME! WHO IS SHE!?!"_

_"I'VE BEEN SEEING A FERTILITY SPECIALIST! I WANT A BABY! I WANT OUR BABY, ERICA!"_

_"Oh."_

_"Oh?"_

_"Oh. Let's get you pregnant."_

_"You're so weird."_

_*~*~*~*~*~_

_"I'm dying, Erica."_

_"You can have the treatment again. You can. I know they said -"_

_"I've given this disease two years. I'm done. I'm just ... tired now."_

_"No, there's a new course that you haven't tried. I can pull strings and -"_

_"Don't be a doctor right now."_

_"If I can't be a doctor, I'm going to die, too."_

_"I'm sorry I never took you to Oregon. Or Canada."_

_"You took me so many other places, Rach. We didn't have to leave town for me to fly."_

_"When I die -"_

_"Don't."_

_"When I die, Er, I want you to move on. I want you to find someone who can love you the way you deserve. There are things ... I'm not proud of how I loved you."_

_"What do you mean?"_

_"Just, let me die knowing that you'll move on. Don't let this beat you. You deserve ... more."_

_"You want me to find some handsome man and get married, huh? That's not likely."_

_"I want you to find a beautiful woman. Someone pretty on the inside and out. I haven't always been -"_

_"Yes, you have. To me, you have."_

_"Just promise."_

_"Okay. I promise."_

_"I do love you, you know?"_

_"I know."_

_"I'm sorry that I have to leave you. And I'm sorry I didn't show it more."_

_"You showed me just fine. What can I do to help you? Tell me, Rachel. Anything."_

_"I'm not scared to die. But I miss you already. So stay right there until I'm asleep. That's all you ever have to do."_

*~*~*~

Rachel was a few years older than me. She worked at Johns Hopkins and we always ran into each other in the elevators. We became fast friends and spent most of our time mocking the people around us. When she told me that she had accepted a job in Washington I thought that my life would end. The night before she left we made love for the first time and it became my life's ambition to find a job in Seattle to be near her after that. It took me several months to secure my position at Presbyterian. When I showed up unannounced on her doorstep I was stunned to find a baby in her arms. Her foster son. Her family.

Jacob was the most beautiful child I had ever seen.

And Rachel was even more breathtaking than I remembered.

I didn't even like kids, but seeing Rachel mother him, seeing her do things for him that had never been done for me, made me fall in love with her completely. I lived in a dingy studio apartment near the hospital and visited her much nicer apartment every chance I got. In every way that mattered, we were a family. We stole moments with each other in between diaper changings and bottle feedings. I learned what certain cries sounded like and how to handle a squirmy little man who liked to piss as soon as cold air hit him. When Rachel asked me to move in and we petitioned for a change of circumstance on her Foster Parent status ... I thought that the world was ours. The race I had been waiting to run my entire life was finally about to start and the prize was a family.

They took Jacob from her not long after we filed the paperwork.

It was the first time that anything had been denied to us for being 'gay'. It was also the first time that we spoke what we were out loud and it helped us cope to be angry at our circumstances. That's when I decided that people were disappointing and I wouldn't waste my time with any endeavors to make peace with them. I did my job, terrorized interns for sport, and shrouded my heart with heavy walls that only Rachel could penetrate. We grew closer as we sat in Jacob's room packing his things and the day that she surrendered him to the case worker who would take him 'home', I officially moved in. Rachel stored my things in Jake's nursery and when I came back to Seattle after a week long conference, she had painted the blue walls beige and no reminder of our 'son' was left behind. I found a mahogany desk with a large red ribbon where his crib had been. The 'Winnie the Pooh' mural was stripped off the wall and my medical degrees were artfully showcased there instead.

Times weren't always easy for us. Losing Jacob tore through Rachel like a swallowed blade and when we found out that he had died from neglect, she changed entirely. If we were in public and she heard a baby cry, her hand would move to her mouth, then her heart. She would cry herself to sleep with her head down on the desk she had given me, clutching his socks in her hand. Every child became Jacob for her and I never felt angry at her for loading that luggage onto my back when she did. I welcomed it. It was my fault that he had been taken, my fault that I had fallen in love with her, my fault that I couldn't live without her, and my mission in life to make her not regret the trade.

Months turned into one year, then two. By the third year Jacob was dead. Rachel was careless with me, complacent about my spot in her life, and I would beg her to see me. I started to suspect that there was more than just a file cabinet full of children that kept her away from me. Accusing her of being unfaithful became my most trusted refrain, the comment I would make when I wanted to hit her hard. I'd cry, she'd rant, I'd plead, she'd dismiss me. I almost left her as we approached our fourth year and she stopped me in my tracks when she blurted out that she wanted a baby. Rachel had an ability to read my mind at any given moment and she must have known how much I longed for that. She must have known that the little yellow scrapbook with empty pages that I had picked up on clearance was already taking shape in my head as a baby book.

I expected the doctor to tell us that she was healthy and we could begin the invetro immediately.

What he told us ... was that Rachel had leukemia.

But that's not all that Rachel had.

Rachel had another blond in her life.

She had a blond named *Arizona*.

My suspicions, the horrifying doubt that crept into me and settled like snakes in my stomach, were right all along.

When Rachel got sick she started to work from home. And it took a while, but she eventually doled out her cases so that she could concentrate on her health. She never left the house because the treatment compromised her immune system so badly. Her good days were beautiful, her bad days were poisonous, but for the first time in forever I had her full attention. She wanted to know *me* again.

It's because she stopped taking Arizona's calls.

It's because I would do when no one else could.

I was convenient.

I was her willing slave who jumped to do her bidding and brushed the hair off her pillow so she wouldn't have to see it when she woke up.

I always said that Rachel sent me Callie to thank me for taking care of her.

But I know now that she sent Callie because she was fucking guilty as HELL.

*~*~*~*~

I'm replaying every fucked up moment of the lie I lived when a cool hand flutters over my cheek and then settles on my forehead. I'd know her touch anywhere. I'd crave her touch anywhere. I think I would probably walk through fire and broken glass, then happily mire myself in the pain I'm in right now just to feel her for a second. I open my eyes slowly and take in the curtain of black hair over Callie's shoulder. I used to think that she was untamable, just like her hair, but that's not true at all. I reach up and thread a lock around my finger, letting the silkiness of it soften the blow I've felt. She's a balm to me.

I've known what a hard life is. I've tasted my own hunger, I've been without heat and water, I've lost every person that I ever mattered to me in the slightest and a few who should have mattered and didn't.

And I've been cheated on.

I have been cheated on.

It's almost too absurd to believe.

It's laughable; it's hilarious, it's ironic, moronic, and downright ludicrous.

But I'm not laughing. I'm not even crying which may be the most ludicrous part of all because this is a new kind of devastation for me. It's a new low.

"Hey, you," she whispers. "Lexie said that you had a headache. Cristina is devastated to think that the infallible Dr. Erica Hahn may actually be sick. Are you okay?"

I don't have a headache. I have an everything ache. "I'm just tired."

"Let's go home."

"What time is it?"

"Almost four. I think we can sneak out of here early with minimal damage, though." She gets to her feet and extends a hand to me. "I have an early day tomorrow so we'll call it an even trade."

"What's happening tomorrow?"

She slides her arms around my waist and leans her head against mine as she speaks. "The perky new pain in the ass Ped's surgeon is going to be briefing me on Emma Foster's medical history."

My spirits lift so quickly that it startles me. "You don't like her?"

"Who?"

"Arizona Robbins."

"Who could like an Arizona Robbins? Her name alone is enough to drive you insane." Callie stops talking and raises a brow. "How did you know her name?"

"I met her earlier. She was lost."

"She is *still* lost. She calls me *Calliope* and figured that it was her place to announce that I'm built for 'carpentry'." Callie smirks at me. "I was this close to telling her that my big hands just make me well endowed and that my woman has no complaints."

"Your woman definitely has no complaints." I let my gaze move over her features. "I love you."

"I love you too, babe." Her head tilts just a little to one side. "Are you okay? Really? You're a little pale."

"Let's just go, Cal."

Telling her about Rachel and letting her hold me through it never crosses my mind.

I don't think I'll ever be able to speak it out loud.

*~*~*~*~*~

Callie and I established a long time ago that I'm usually the one in the driver's seat. I drive us to work every morning because she doesn't truly wake up until I buy her coffee on the way. There's also the issue of her lead foot and her inability to comprehend that a stop sign actually means to stop and not slow down. She gives me a curious look when I toss the keys to her in the parking lot, but she doesn't say anything. She starts to sing along with the radio the second we pull away from the hospital and I close my eyes, trying to concentrate on the sound of her voice and nothing else.

Rachel was never a singer. Rachel hated music. When I couldn't get her into popular radio, I tried classical. When classical failed, I moved onto show tunes. We finally found a happy medium with opera and she would actually surprise me sometimes by playing Puccini to seduce me. I only ever needed *her* to be seduced, but since Rachel never overextended herself to please me, every little thing she did was magnified a million times over. Rachel would never be singing along to a boy band, sounding better than they do, and Rachel would never have pushed the speedometer to sixty in a forty five, but that's what Callie does.

And then she acts shocked when blue lights flash behind us. "Well, shit."

I shake my head in frustration. "I've told you about the speed traps through here, Lee."

"You think I could convince him that I have to pee and that's why I'm speeding?"

"If anyone could, it's you."

My delivery of that, the lack of conviction in my tone, forces her to look at me a little closer. I shift uncomfortably when she says, "That's either very insulting or very sweet. What's wrong?"

"I've told you about the speed traps through here. You need to start paying attention because you've already got too many points on your license. Your insurance premiums are through the roof and it's just ... ridiculous. I'm sick of the way you disregard things."

"Uh ... ooookay. You want to tell me what's really wrong or do I have to guess?"

I'm being an unfair bitch. I do know that. I'm well aware that I'm projecting onto her and she hasn't done anything to deserve it, but I don't apologize. I hand her the proof of insurance and watch as she rolls down the window. A moment later, Russ Peters, the officer who responded to our house the night that Savoy gutted a deer on our porch, is smiling in at us. He has stopped by a few times since then to comment on the fence that Callie's father installed on our property. He's a nice guy, pretty amicable. "Hey, Ladies."

"Hey, Russ, it's good to see you," Callie cheerfully gushes, "I can totally explain why I was speeding and -"

"Some other time," Russ cuts her off. "How have you been?"

"We're good," she tells him.

"I'm glad to hear it. I know that it must've been unsettling when that guy posted bail and -"

"He's out?" I lean forward now, eyes wide. "Savoy is out of jail?"

Russ squats down outside the car now, nodding. "Yes, ma'am. About three weeks now. They didn't notify you?"

"No," Callie says and when she looks over at me, there's something in her face that's haunted. She blames herself for so much of what transpired with Savoy and the vandalization of our cars and home. I hate that. I want to erase it all.

I cover her hand with mine and squeeze it reassuringly. "It's okay. We've got the restraining order and ... well, the house is like Fort Knox now. You said so yourself."

"I've been patrolling your neighborhood a little more often," says Russ. "Just, you know, to do it."

"Thank you," I tell him.

He grins at me, looking boyish, and winks. Callie doesn't see it because she's staring out the windshield. Russ clears his throat and says, "I'm afraid I'll need to see your license and registration, Dr. Torres. I clocked you going sixty six miles per hour and well, that's gonna be expensive, I'm afraid."

Her bottom jaw drops open. "But - but - I can explain why I was speeding."

"Knock yourself out," Russ tells her, making a show of opening his ticket book.

"I, uhm, need to pee."

"Do you know how often I hear that?"

"Oh." Callie scratches her cheek. "I left the oven on?"

"You don't cook," I remind her.

"Right. I, forgot. Actually, I was in a hurry to get home and watch the game."

"What game?" Russ inquires.

"Whatever you like? I'm such a sports fan if it'll get me out of this ticket."

He laughs and flips his book closed. "Fine. But slow down, okay? I'd rather not spend the afternoon scraping you off the road."

"Thanks, Russ."

"Anytime. You have a good night." He pats the top of the car before he walks away.

Callie waits for him to ease around us and drive off before she puts the car in gear and merges into traffic. She doesn't talk about Savoy, but she doesn't need to because I can hear her loud and clear.

She's not singing now.

I reach over push her hair out of her face. "We knew that it was only a matter of time before he'd make bail."

"I know."

"We'll talk to Webber and make sure we have the same schedule again. I'd like that."

"I'd like that, too." She's driving under the speed limit now, both of her hands on the wheel. "So ... are you mad at me?"

"No.."

"I think you are."

"I told you ... I'm tired."

We stop for Chinese food. I don't want to cook. I wait in the car while she runs in to retrieve it and I distract myself by scrolling through a few messages on my phone from Vivian. She's apparently just as chatty electronically as she is in person. I actually love it. It's sort of awe inspiring to have messages from my *sister*. I think she actually does want to know how my day was and will read my response carefully. It's sort of surreal to know that there's someone out there with my blood who cares enough to ask. There are raunchy jokes to go along with the inquiries, a few photos of her and the twins, and one of the twins holding up a sign that says, 'We miss you, Aunties!' in finger paint.

It's the finger paint that slams me back into the past with Rachel.

And I was just starting to feel better.

_*~*_

_"What did you do to the painting? Where is it?"_

_"What?"_

_"The painting, Erica! The one that was on the dining room table!"_

_"Are you talking about that ripped construction paper? I threw it out."_

_"FUCK YOU!"_

_"WHAT?!"_

_"DON'T YOU EVER THROW ANYTHING OF MINE AWAY WITHOUT ASKING ME!"_

_"It's just a piece of paper!"_

_"Of course it's a piece of paper to someone like you!"_

_"What is that supposed to mean!?"_

_"YOU DON'T CARE ABOUT PEOPLE, ERICA! YOU'RE DEAD INSIDE!"_

_"TAKE IT BACK!"_

_"YOU SPEND ALL DAY SAVING PEOPLE, BUT YOU DON'T CARE! YOU LEAVE THEM THERE AND FORGET THEM!"_

_"YEAH, IT'S CALLED NOT BEING INSANE!"_

_"I HATE YOU!"_

_"WELL, I HATE YOU, TOO!"_

_*~*~_

_"That's pretty, Erica. Where did you get it?"_

_"Veronica Loomis, age five. I repaired a hole in her heart so she could run and ... she painted me this. It's her chasing a butterfly for the first time in her life."_

_"I'm sorry about the other night."_

_"I don't bring the paintings home, Rachel, because I need them around me at work. They keep me focused. I'm not dead inside."_

_"I know that. I - I was just mad at you."_

_"Why?"_

_"I guess because you're here."_

_"I don't understand what that means."_

_"I need to be mad at someone and ... you're easy to be mad at because I know you'll still love me. You'll always get over it and forgive me."_

_"I can't always just get over it. You need to meet me halfway sometimes. You need to just ... meet me."_

_"I quit my job today. I lost my hair and the way I look now ... I scare the kids and I don't want to do that."_

_"I'll take care of you. You don't scare me."_

_"Bring your paintings home, Er. You're doing work for both of us now and I want to see it."_

_"I, uh, I don't hate you, Rachel. I'm sorry I said that."_

_"It's okay. I know."_

_*~*~*~*~_

After mostly pushing my food around I tell Callie that I'm going to take a bath. She waits for an invitation, but I don't extend it. I can't extend it. I don't want to do to her what Rachel did to me. I don't want to be mad at Callie simply because *I* am sick. And I am sick. I'm very sick, painfully sick. I feel battle scarred and shell shocked. I alternate between feeling hot and cold. My stomach is aching, my head is aching, and my heart has been blasted into pieces. It's my nature to lash out. That's what I do, that's my modus operandi. So it's just better for me to remove myself from human contact, even if Callie is the only human in the world that I never get tired of, and cocoon myself with my thoughts.

Rachel liked blonds.

She told me once that the reason she fell in love with me was because my blond hair was infatuating. She never liked it when it was curly, but when it was straight she could sit for hours and run her fingers through it. Arizona Robbins has curly hair. And I wonder if that was the first thing Rachel noticed about her, and if so, was she fine with her curls? I also wonder what it was that Rachel found with her that she couldn't find with me. How long did it last? Did Rachel love her? What parts of her life did Rachel share with this other woman that she didn't share with me? Was Rachel attracted to her because Arizona loved children, too? Would she have strayed from me if I had chosen pediatrics instead of cardiothoracics? When did it start for them? Was it my birthday weekend? I spent that entire day alone, waiting for Rachel to call me. It's possible that when she finally did call ... she had just made love with someone else. It's possible that the moment she told me goodnight ... she crawled into a bed that wasn't empty like mine.

Did it turn her stomach to touch me? Is that why we scheduled sex?

Was I right in thinking that I was too big, too gangly, too misshapen, and not quite pretty enough to hold her attention?

Rachel was beautiful. Everything about her, from her broad smile to her long toes, she was perfect. I'd see people look at her when we walked down the street. They looked through me to get to her and I'd puff up with pride and want to hold her hand, but that's something we never did. The world viewed us as best friends and the only time we ever touched as anything more was when our front door was locked and the blinds were closed. I thought she hid it because of her job, but I don't know now. Maybe she lived so quietly with me because she was living out loud with someone else.

Callie doesn't have a problem with public displays of affection. She did at first, but then she bit the bullet one day and kissed me as hard as she could in Starbucks and when the world didn't fly of its axis, it became a habit for her. I've felt her lips on mine at Pike's Place. She's nuzzled my neck at the airport, threaded her fingers through mine at the hospital, and slides her hand into my back pocket when we shop for groceries. I never have to look for my place with her because she puts me there and keeps me riveted.

I soak until my skin is pruned and the water has chilled. Callie's not in our room when I crawl into the bed naked and pull the cover up to my throat. I'm hiding, cowering down, bracing for impact. I know that I could break down and I'd be pulled into the harbor of Cal's arms until the storm passes, but I can't do that. If I give in to the pain ... if I surrender and cry then I'm admitting that this happened and I can't yet. I'm just not ready to do that because the image I have of Rachel isn't perfect and it never has been, but it still takes my breath to conjure her in my mind's eye and remember what I thought we had.

I really didn't think that sleep could claim me at all, but it does. When I wake up, Callie's head is on my shoulder and I can smell her shampoo. She's breathing deep, resting peacefully and so help me ... I envy her. I savor the feel of her until my stomach growls and then I ease from the bed, wrap myself in a robe, and pad to the kitchen. She's cleaned everything up and I know that I'll find my dinner in the refrigerator, but I need comfort food.

Life with Callie is always educational. I opt for Pop Tarts as my midnight snack because it will help me. Before Callie, I had never willingly purchased any breakfast food that came in colorful boxes. As I rifle through the cabinet, though, I push aside several cartoon brands: Tony the Tiger, Fred Flintstone, the Lucky Charms Leprechaun, and finally locate our communal box of Cherry Pop Tarts. My teeth used to ache just smelling them in the toaster, but now my taste buds roar in appreciation as they brown. I sit down at the island with my plate and a glass of milk, savoring the first bite. Who knew that I could change so damn much? Willingly?

"You really are sick."

I knew she'd wake up the moment I got out of the bed. Hell, maybe I actually wanted her to. I only thought that I'd rather be alone. The only light is the one over the stove and I watch as Callie walks across the room. She's wearing a tight white Rolling Stones tank top and her panties, if I'm not seeing things, also have the Stone's logo on them, large lips, tongue -- oh my god, they do. I get an eagle eyed view when she hops up onto the counter. She crosses her bare feet at the ankles and swings them back and forth. Sometimes ... she really *is* young and it's mind-numbingly hot to know that she invites me to *try* to keep up with her every chance she gets. She begs for me to keep up with her and I push until I do. Her nipples are hard under the thin ribbed fabric of her shirt and I have trouble swallowing my food. Actually, I'm wondering if she would agree to be my plate.

She appraises me as I take another bite. And I watch her ... I'm always watching her.

There are so many comparisons that I have made between Callie and Rachel. Callie always comes out ahead. Always. Rachel would never prance across the kitchen in her panties. Hell, I rarely even *saw* her panties. She would never wake up just because I wasn't in the bed, either. If I left the bed at all I'd come back and find that she had spread her tiny, petite form across it, covering both sides. I'd head to the couch and never hear it if she missed me at all. Yes, I do compare my past and my future. And I always thank my lucky stars that I suffered the loss of Rachel so that I can bask in the life that Callie made for me.

I think I'm learning that looking back is never as beautiful as looking forward.

There's a part of my brain that knows how upset I still am over Arizona Robbins, the wrecking ball, but for the life of me I can't remember anything she said about Rachel at all.

I'm definitely *not* thinking about that.

"I know what's going on, Erica."

Callie's voice is thick with exhaustion. I can hear it. She yawns and I glance up at her face in time to see her rub her eyes. She grinds her fingers against them, even though I've told her a million times that she shouldn't. "Why don't you -"

"You're still pissed at me over the clinic thing and I understand that. I know that I was wrong and I really am sorry."

"I'm not-"

"Look, we both know that money isn't really the most important thing out there. It helps, but they would rather have us show up and paint with them than buy them something." She leans forward a little, bracing her palms on either side of her thighs. Now I can't stop looking at her legs, long, long legs that go from here to there. "So let's go out there this weekend. We'll take cake and ice cream, I'll blow up balloons and play the piano until my fingers bleed, and when they ask us why we're having a party I can tell them that they're important enough to you, to us, to make *time* for them ... and that's better than a million bucks. You'll blow me out the water when it comes to giving. You're their hero anyway, you know?"

The fact that people like Callie exist at all makes me wonder how many opportunities I missed by being so anti-social. I'm not talking about sexual opportunities, I'm talking about being reminded that there are *good* and *decent* people out there who more than make up for the ones that suck. I spent so much time learning how the human body operates that I never really noticed that it actually houses so much more than organs and arteries. I devoted so much of my energy into studying anatomy that I never gave souls or spirits a second though.

But I do now.

Callie is in full possession of the most impressive anatomy I've ever studied, but it's not her body that keeps me alive. It's her innate ability to whisper to my fears and coax them away without pushing me at all. It's the unbelievable moments that she can disarm me, stun me, and make me unable to focus on anything other than her. She wants me. She loves me. She accepts that I'm flawed, unpredictable, and can let my thoughts batter me for hours. Right when I need her the most, she reaches in and saves me from myself. Every single damn time.

She makes me aware that there's more to me than the darkest shadows I can lose myself in and all I want right now is to let her remind me that nothing matters in the world ... except us.

I leave the remaining Pop Tart on the plate and push my stool back. When I walk toward her, she uncrosses her ankles and I slide between her legs, accepting the unspoken invitation. My palms smooth up her thighs and then around to her backside as I pull her to the edge of the counter. "Nice outfit, Callie."

"It was my mother's way of making up for the Christmas pajamas."

"I really don't want to hear about your mother right now."

"What do you want to hear?"

"You. Screaming."

There's a flash in her eyes, fire and mischief, and I smile because she does. I smile because even the worst nights in the world are bearable when you have someone like her to hang onto. Just seeing her, feeling her, smelling her and touching her ... I don't care about anything else that may or may not happen from here on out. I laugh because her heels push at the backs of my legs, yanking me forward so hard that my knees hit the cabinet. "I'm calling the shots, Lee."

"Then start calling."

She's always ready for sex. Always. Day or night, bad day or good, feverish or fine, she's always, always, always ready to make love with me.

I've never felt more wanted in my life. It does things to my libido that make me waste *no* time right now.

I'm not gentle when I yank her shirt over her head. I feel my nails claw against her flesh and hear her intake of breath when I grip the back of her panties, curling my fingers around the elastic waist. She lifts her hips for me, pushing upward with her hands, and I have the boy shorts over her feet in a flash. When she tries to hop off the counter, I shake my head and untie my robe, letting it fall into the floor behind me. My stomach moves against her center as she wraps her legs around me and I can feel her heat on my naked skin, scorching me. Undoing me.

Her own nails run roughshod over my scalp as she clutches at me, drawing my mouth to hers. She tastes sweet and chases away the cherry pastry I indulged in with her tongue. I moan and she's not even doing anything to earn it yet, but I've made peace with the fact that she can buckle my knees without even trying. I've made peace with her owning every single movement I make ... because I make them all for her.

I let my mouth move down her neck, sucking at the tender flesh where her shoulder begins. As I slowly stalk downward, her hips begun to undulate against me. She rolls them in a circle, then strains upward, pressing herself harder against my stomach. I pointedly move away, making it impossible for that part of her to touch any part of me. It's so easy sometimes ... how effortlessly I can take the upper hand. And how readily she lets me. I can't help but smile when she swears under her breath and tells me how she'll kill me in graphic detail. I move with excruciatingly soft motions as I trace her hardened nipple, barely letting her feel me at all. I catch her wrists when she dares to push me and shake my head again. "Hands off."

"If you want me to scream for the right reasons then you better stop teasing me."

"You need to learn how to enjoy things." I move back to her neck, still holding her hands at her sides. "Always in a rush, always hurrying."

I lift my finger and trace her full, pouty lips. She sucks it into her mouth and my toes curl against the hardwood. When she arches one brow, I know how very close I am to losing the upper hand, so I slip my moistened finger down her stomach and let it flutter against her. She's wet. She's always so damn wet ...

"Erica, god ... please ..."

She did say please.

I pull her legs over my shoulders and give in; lowering my head to the spot she's begging me to touch. I have to hang onto her, I have to fasten my arms around her thighs to hold her still, but I'm not complaining. How could I? When she says my name now it's loud, a hoarse cry of relief and I start to shake a little. Why couldn't I have met her first? Why couldn't I have loved her before I ever loved anyone else? Why couldn't she have been the one I met at Johns Hopkins? We could already be years ... glorious, perfect years into our relationship. Sometimes, I hate that I waited until right now to start living life to the fullest.

But she was worth the wait.

Knowing that what I do to her will be done to me in turn ... it's overwhelming. I can practically hear the blood thundering her veins when I lower her legs and step back just enough for her to ease off the counter.

I'm ready for her. She slides down onto my fingers before her feet can touch the floor and her eyes widen in shock. I capture the perfect 'o' her lips make and when all is said and done an hour later, I'm lying on my back near the stove and she's resting her head on my stomach.

We've both screamed.

I feel like maybe I can face the day now.

I think maybe I could face it all along, but she gave me a reminder that it's worth it.

Nothing matters except this right here.

*~*~*~*~

"Do you think you'll be finished with Emma's case in time for lunch?"

"I hope to sleep through lunch," Callie replies, stifling a yawn with her palm. I feel instant guilt when I see how tired she really is. "You kept me up *all* night."

"Excuse me, but I do recall asking you if you wanted to sleep."

"Yes, you did, but you were also naked when you asked me and ... that answer will always be no if you're naked."

I lean against her, giving her a kiss. The elevator doors slide open and I reluctantly pull away in time to see Arizona Robbins jogging toward us. She jogs. At four thirty in the morning. It's wintertime, but Dr. Robbins is wearing a tight spandex pink thing that leaves nothing to the imagination. Her toned arms are bare, a little portion of her stomach is showing, and her cleavage seems larger than life as she bounds into the lift and hops up and down on her toes. I want to throttle her.

"Beautiful morning," she says, sounding breathless and annoyingly *happy*. "Hi, Calliope, you ready for today?"

"It's Callie, actually. Just Callie."

"I don't do nicknames, Calliope," Arizona tells her. "It's insulting to parents and I don't think that's a good thing. Man, I love cold weather. I couldn't wait to leave Florida and come here."

"You're from Florida? So am I," Callie tells her. "Miami."

Arizona lifts a bottle and squirts water into her mouth before she speaks. I wish she would choke on it. I'd tackle Callie to stop her from helping her breathe. "Sarasota. Born and raised. The rain was an adjustment, but you just can't ... wake yourself up with the wind like you can here. Erica Hahn, good morning."

"Morning."

I watch as Arizona's blue eyes move down to my hand. I'm holding Callie's and shift just a little when those blue eyes move back up to my face. I brace myself and don't even know what I'm bracing for. She gives me another one of those dimpled smiles that I really do fucking hate and says, "I thought I heard about every relationship in this hospital yesterday. Gossip. There's just so much gossip. I didn't hear about you two, though."

"We're old news," Callie says as the doors slide open. Giving me her full attention, Callie adds, "Page me for lunch, Yellow. Even if I'm sleeping."

I wink at her. "I will, Lee."

"I love you."

"Love you, too."

"So, is it Lee now?" Arizona shakes her head. "That's why nicknames are ridiculous. Just be who you are."

Even though I should technically exit with Callie and Arizona ... I don't. I stand there and watch them walk away together and it should be unnerving. I'm watching a woman who has slept with someone that I slept with leave with the only person I ever want to sleep with again. It should be crippling and I should be gripped with fear, trepidation, jealousy and every ugly emotion a person can have, but I'm not. The doors slide closed on Callie glancing back at me and I know all the way to my soul that she would never, ever hurt me.

Ever.

Not even accidentally.

I'm thinking about not paging her at all and following her into the on call room for lunch when the doors slide open again and Addison Montgomery is standing there. She's pale and her hair is stuck straight out on one side. This is definitely not the Addison I know. I don't say anything when she grabs my arm and pulls me into an exam room. I do drop my purse in the chair when she climbs up on the stretcher and lifts her scrub shirt.

"What are we doing?" I ask.

"I'm huge. I can't even button my pants."

"Well, you're pregnant."

"I need to see. And ... well, I keep postponing this because ... just because."

She points at the ultrasound and I raise a brow. "Don't you want Mark here?"

"We couldn't see a damn thing on the last ultrasound and he took over and tried to do it himself. For an hour. It was just too early." She reclines, tucking her shirt up under her bra. "Please do this. Please."

I'm not dressed in scrubs yet so I roll up my sleeves before I tug on gloves and cover her belly with gel. To say that I'm fond of Addison is an understatement. I really didn't think that I'd like her because she's that type of woman who always has to look just so, labels matter more to her than life, and anyone who would purposely walk around the hospital in four inch heels is just a little insane. But I am fond of her. Callie's definitely my best friend, but Addison is a close second. I remember when I tapped her on the shoulder the day after I found a mass in my breast and before I could even explain fully ... she had me in a gown and had located the lump herself. She may be into sado-masochism with the heels, but when she hugged me that day, I knew that I would be lucky to have her in my life at all.

I turn the screen toward her as I try to locate her baby.

For just a second, I'm terrified. I don't see anything and I'm about to drop the ultrasound and run ... but then it's there.

THEN THEY'RE THERE!

Two little sacs that look like lima beans and I gasp before she can. "Addison!"

"I knew it," she says, flopping back and covering her face with her hands. "I so freakin' knew it! Sick as a dog, hormones through the roof. Twins. I need twins like a hole in my head and now ... twins. Two of them. TWO OF THEM. Can you go ahead and kill me now?"

I slide the imager over her, taking in everything, making sure that the two little blobs looks normal. I'm pleased to note that everything's perfect and when I turn the Doppler on so she can *hear* her babies, she lowers her hands. "They're strong," I tell her. "And you could go into this thinking that it's double the trouble, but really, it's probably going to be double the fun. They'll keep you and Mark on your toes and it'll be them against you. You know what sibling bonds are like ... look at Callie and Jazz. You get to have your *own* Callie and Jazz. Without having to do it *twice*."

"If my spawn is *anything* like Callie ... I'm signing it over to you."

I pat her on the arm and rub a towel over her stomach. She takes over, cleaning herself. I turn my attention to the ultrasound, putting it away as I listen to her stomach growl. "You want to go have a celebratory breakfast with me, Montgomery?"

"Yes, please! I'm only four hours into a thirty and I'm famished." She nods and hops off the stretcher. I watch her try and fail to button her pants and chuckle when she simply pulls her shirt over it. "I guess I'll be shopping soon."

"I won't be volunteering to help you with that, but I will happily buy you a bagel."

We head to the cafeteria and I make good on my promise, handing her a bagel and following her to an empty table. She's taking the news of her twins very well. I'm actually pretty impressed that she's calm at all because when she found out that she was pregnant, with seemingly one baby, she had a panic attack. It's understandable, I guess. She has no clue if Alex Karev or Mark Sloan is the father and when Alex died, a piece of Addison went with him. Strong women have always been inspiring and she's one of the strongest I know. I stir sugar into my oatmeal, something I *never* did until Callie, and take a bite. "Is Mark on call, too?"

"No, he's actually bonding with Derek. They went fishing."

"That's nice. When will he be back?"

"Tomorrow. He took the dog with him. I really hope he's watching her."

"How is Hope?" I ask, inquiring about the Golden Retriever puppy Mark bought her to teach her how to be a mother. She was so insulted by that. She showed up at my house carrying it in a little basket and I knew she'd fall in love with it when all was said and done. I'm not really an animal lover, especially dogs. Rachel's dog, Buddha, ruined my life for years. Furry little fucker. But I do have a fondness for the critically ugly hairless cats that Callie gave me. Just like Addison has a soft spot for her dog.

"Huge. She eats from sun up until sun down and so help me God, I'm jealous. I miss food."

Addison is doing a great job of scarfing down her bagel, but I don't mention it. I sip my coffee and enjoy the comfortable silence that falls over us. She's probably thinking about how drastically different her life will be in a few months. Or maybe she's trying to decide how to let Mark know that the family of three they've been bracing for will actually be four. As for me, I'm thinking about how amazing it will be to look at an ultrasound monitor one day and see Callie's baby, our baby, resting there inside her.

You know, it's funny, when Rachel and I started going through files looking for a sperm donor, I never really thought about what it would feel like to put my hand on her stomach and wait for the kid to kick. I just ... thought about her. How much *she* wanted a baby and how ready I was to live it through her. I couldn't wait for the baby to actually come ... but didn't care too much about the side effects that would lead up to it. Rachel wouldn't have handled pregnancy well. Gaining half a pound would send her scurrying to the gym and swearing off food for days.

I think Callie will thrive on it, though.

"What's wrong with you? Erica?"

"What?"

"I just mentioned a pretty interesting consultation I need you for and you aren't salivating at the mouth yet."

"Sorry. I -"

"What's on your mind?"

I put my spoon down and take a deep breath. There's a lie on the tip of my tongue, something about being tired, but I don't lie to her. Instead, I say, "Do you think it's possible to be with someone for six years and not know all their secrets?"

"Of course it is," Addison replies, licking cheese off her finger. "We all keep pieces of ourselves hidden, even from the people that we love. I mean, I was married to Derek and never told him that I broke the lamp his mother gave us on purpose. I never told him that I really hated Sunday dinners with his family and I didn't let him know that the only reason I agreed to marry him when I did was because I wanted to do it before my grandmother died. Why?"

I pick up my coffee cup, but I don't drink it. I could tell her about Rachel and Arizona. Right now. I could get it off my chest and let her assure me that it doesn't matter and that I shouldn't let it eat away at me. I should tell her because she would go and pull Callie out of her meeting with *that* woman and make her to come and find me, but I don't. "It's just ... I sometimes wonder if what we think we know about people really is true. Is anyone actually honest or does everyone lie?"

"What did she do?"

"Who?"

"Callie! What did she do!?"

"Nothing. She's perfect."

"Gag."

"She is."

"Okay, she's perfect. Then what's going on?"

"I'm just ... over thinking."

"Are you getting wedding butterflies? Because I'm here to tell you that Callie's ready. She's so ready. I worked with her the other day on newlyweds who had gotten in a car accident. She was grilling the bride about their wedding venue and took down the number of their planner. She's ready."

"I know that. I'm ready, too."

"So, when's the date?"

"We haven't actually talked about it much. I like the spring, she likes the fall. I mean, with Jasper's surgery and his recovery ... we need to wait until he's fine before we even think about it."

"Jasper is fine." Addison finishes off her bagel, smacking her lips. "Don't spend life waiting for the good stuff to happen. It's bad enough that people have to wait to give birth. You guys should do this soon. It'll give me something to look forward to."

I laugh. "You haven't asked Mark to marry you yet, huh?"

"No. Every time I think I'm ready he does something annoying and I change my mind."

"He's Mark Sloan."

"Par for the course, right?"

"Basically."

"So, this consultation." Addison rubs her hand on her napkin. "Pregnant woman with pretty severe gestational diabetes. She also has a heart murmur and I plan to induce her in about an hour. I'd love it if you could check her out before I do that."

"It would be my pleasure."

Something else that Callie brought into my life? Friends who can throw me a case when I really need a good distraction.

*~*~*~*~*~

I don't have to page Callie for lunch. She arrives in the lounge looking a little frazzled and tells me that she needs to get away from the hospital for an hour. We head to Stanley's Steak House and I watch her fidget in her seat as she scans the menu. She always gets the same thing so I know she's only looking at the selections to have something to do. I take the menu from her and set it aside, reaching across the table to lace our fingers. "Bad day?"

"I just ... I spent the morning hearing about how Emma seized during surgery to repair her tracheotomy. I listened to how she nearly died from the chicken pox, how she hasn't had the mumps, how she pulled out her feeding tube when she was four."

"And?"

"How perfect her feet are for ballet. How she plays the piano. How she likes to visit sicker children than she is, but then cries if she scares them. I heard a running commentary on every photograph that Arizona has of her and I just - it wasn't so real until right now."

"What's real?"

"This next surgery is elective. She doesn't have to have it. We want her to have it because Seattle Grace sucks in ranking and this could be huge, but she can live without it. It'll make her life a little easier, but she can and will live without it."

"That's very true."

"And one slip of my hand, one mistake, and she's gone, Erica. Just like that. I - maybe I don't want to be on this case."

"Yes, you do. You're crazy about this little girl."

"Exactly. I've gotten attached to a patient and I know better than that. We're not supposed to do that. We're supposed to be dead inside and -"

"We are *never* supposed to be dead inside. Don't say that."

She sighs. "I don't know what to do. I'm scared."

The waiter arrives and we place our order. I give her my full attention when he walks away, taking in the frown line on her forehead, the way she worries her bottom lip, and stand up. I slide onto the bench next to her and let my arm rest around her shoulders. "Callie?"

"I'm not ready for this. I'm not. I'm still a resident... granted, I'm a senior resident and I'm almost finished with the program, but this is the kind of surgery that needs someone with way more experience than I have. I don't know how to do this. What if I freeze up? What if I don't have what it takes? And what if I look like a fool on camera and that is what they decide to put in the documentary? It's career suicide."

"If there is anyone who has what it takes ... it's you. Gavin Cole hand picked you for this because he saw your potential. You are the one who realized how Emma's new jaw needed to be constructed and put it in place for her. This next step wouldn't be worth it at all if you weren't there to see it happen. She likes you. You put her at ease. So, calm down and breathe. You will be just fine."

"She's just a little girl."

"And you're going to help her grow into a woman a little easier by helping her now."

Callie exhales, studying my face. Sometimes when she looks at me that way, I'm almost afraid that she'll notice my crooked nose and teeth and realize that I'm lacking. She'll notice that one eye is a little bigger than the other and that the laugh lines are here to stay. Before I can worry too much, she gives me a kiss. "In case I failed to mention it before ... I love that you can talk me off the ledge."

"It's my pleasure."

My cell phone rings and I have to return to my own seat to locate it in my purse. I see that it's Addison, frown, and quickly answer. "Hello?"

"She had a heart attack."

"What? Who?"

"My patient, Erica. The one from this morning. I induced her and everything was fine, but ... she had a heart attack."

"I'll be right there."

"It's too late. I called it."

"Oh ... Jesus. I'm sorry. I thought -"

"I don't know how this happened. She seemed perfectly ... I have to go. Her husband just spotted me and I need to let him know."

"Do you want me to come and -"

The line goes dead and I slowly put the phone back in my purse. Callie can see that something definitely happened, something big, but our appetizer arrives before I can tell her. I excuse myself and seek shelter in the bathroom for a few seconds. Addison's patient was incredibly kind, very excited about her baby and now ...

It's got to be because I was so damn distracted with my thoughts. I overlooked something. I didn't listen close enough to her heart because I was too busy worrying about the state of mine. I could catalogue all the things about myself that I didn't like when I was with Rachel. I could alphabetize them and put them in a book. I was cranky, I was rude, I was hell bent on being the absolute best and never let myself waver in the slightest when it came to my job. And now? Now Rachel fucking Phillips has not only demolished the slightly tarnished memory of our life that I clung to ... she's ruining my concentration and making me fail. Epic failing that I'm not used to.

I have to tell Callie. I have to fall apart and let her put me back together before I can let this agony go. Once I cry, I'll feel better. Once I let her know just how deep my devastation is, she will do what she always does and make it right. Somehow, someway, she'll make it right. I have to believe that. Her pain is always mine and mine is always hers because that's the way we take care of one another.

I need her to take care of me now.

I splash my face with cold water and lurk in the stall until I'm feeling a little steadier. I'm actually shocked and possibly disappointed that Callie didn't follow me.

I fully understand why when I go back into the dining room and see what's happening.

Callie's on her feet and standing just a few inches in front of her, in full violation of the restraining order, is Savoy.

I think I must mimic a statue for a full minute before the sound of her raised voice makes me move. I stalk forward and grip his arm, yanking him around to face me. The smug bastard doesn't seem to be aware of how close he is to feeling my fist against his face. He cocks his head to one side and breathes deep ... he's ... he's *smelling* me. His eyes close and he makes a sound in the back of his throat. It's the sound that a predator makes as it rips meat from it's prey and it batters me. It's almost impossible to swallow down my revulsion. It rises like bile. I feel disgusted, violated, and I want to kill him with my bare hands.

"Get out of here," I growl. "Now."

If it's possible for someone to have dead eyes ... that's exactly what he has.

And I feel like I've been doused with cold water when they slowly rake over me from head to toe.

I see something there that I saw a time or two in my adoptive father's eyes and I wage a war with myself to keep from taking a step back. There will be no quarter given here. I won't back down. Callie comes around Savoy, slamming into him with her shoulder, and stands next to me. "I called the cops, asshole. You're going back to jail."

Without speaking at all, Savoy inclines his head just a fraction of an inch at me and then glances over at Callie. She's breathing hard. I don't know what he said to her, but I will rip his throat out for it.

Still, he says nothing.

I'm about to shove him away when he chuckles under his breath and walks off, joining two men and a woman on the far side of the restaurant. He says something to them, making them all laugh boisterously and look our way.

This?

This is the fight that I needed, I think.

And I take a step forward before Callie can stop me.

_*~*~*~*~_

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